


It's love

by Cames4eva



Category: Red Queen Series - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blackmail, Child Abuse, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Thomas is a bastard, Violence, Voyeurism, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cames4eva/pseuds/Cames4eva
Summary: He's in love, in love with the man made of violence, a man glittering in void and darkness, a man that leaves dark welts all over his body."I love you.""Oh, I know.""Don't you love me too?"
Relationships: Maven Calore & Tiberias "Cal" Calore, Maven Calore/Other(s), Maven Calore/Thomas
Comments: 31
Kudos: 33





	1. "What does love feel like?"

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to take this moment to thank my girlfriend for having a fever dream about this and it scared her so much she cried. She was sick though so she was crying about dropping her apple later that day.
> 
> I had no intention of writing this, because it's a horrible thing to do, even to a fictional character but then my girlfriend's best friend/my archnemesis, Amelia told her how awful that dream was, and well, I live ONLY to spite her.

_“All my grief says the same thing:_

_this isn’t how it’s supposed to be._

_this isn’t how it’s supposed to be._

_and the world laughs._

_holds my hope by the throat._

_says:_

_but this is how it is”_

_~Fortesa Latifi_

———

_"What does love feel like?"_

Maven stares up at his mother, with those wide blue eyes, they sparkle with oceans and sky and curiosity. Elara Merandus is made of diamond glass, unbreakable, sharp, and hard and cold. Most assume Elara Merandus has never felt love. Stories used to waft around the palace, spread between the servants in hushed whisperes. They said that when Maven was born, she handed him off to a caretaker instantly, Never even looking the baby boy in his eyes.

Elara has never flat out rejected this claim; when Maven would bring it up, she’d pat him on the head and stared into his eyes.

Elara stares her child in the eyes now, children are half their mother and half their father, but not Maven, Maven is only Elara, all of his DNA is hers. They have the same blue eyes, the same light icy blue that glares the world into non-existence. But her eyes are made of memories and lapis, things Maven would never, could never, know. Could never touch with his fingertips, never see with his own eyes. His eyes are innocence she had lost long ago, once a child, soft and made of flower fields and pretty dresses, now she is older, a queen, a mother, a wife.

"What does love feel like?" 

Maven repeats, glaring at his mother, his creator, just like the petulant child he is.

"Pain." 

It’s all she says, the words final and unquestioning. Her word is law, what she says is what reality is molded around, shaped into. And when Maven looks into her eyes, he sees memories, memories of love, and agony.

Maven is just five, he’s a thing of curiosity, of nature and tantrums. Maven is made of clay, if you leave him alone for too long he will dry and shaping him causes cracks. If you allow him to soak information out of the world, he’ll be easy to shape, to mold and fill air pockets and empty spaces. He will not explode later, he will be perfect. He just asks lots of questions.

"Why do birds exist ?"

"What's the point of garlic bread?"

"Why tax people?"

"Do quesadillas grow on trees?"

And of course, that question.

"What does love feel like?" 

That last one came from a red, one of Maven’s maids, the one that combs out his hair. Maven is young, and so the servants get away with “slacking off,” as his father had typically put it, more than they would with other nobles.

Maven likes to hear them gossip, their lives are so interesting, Meliora’s mother came down with influenza and passed away last fall, Eunoia is saving up to buy a pretty dress for her daughter’s birthday, Tasnim talked about the jobs she had before, horror stories mostly, Emeritus talked little about herself but lots to say on the nobles, Maven had never heard so many colorful words before she began to work for him. The youngest, Vitra, was always the quiet one, very little to say in her life. Maven often forgot she existed.

Expect that day, Vitra was usually a plain-looking girl, but today she was beautiful. Her brown hair, the color of dark chocolate, was brushed nice and neat, tied up with a lacy ribbon that she had never worn before. The other girls ask about it, teasing, and Vitra’s eyes glaze over.

"I'm totally in love with that kitchen boy, Saevus."

Maven had never been in love, he had heard the word, but it was never directed at him. Everyone says it, everyone says it to Cal, and Maven understands that. Maven is nothing but a shadow to Cal’s flame, he is the villain to Cal’s hero, the monster to Cal’s god.

Maven doesn’t really know what any of that actually means, he doesn’t know if he’s evil or devious. He doesn’t know if he’s made of fire and brimstone like everyone says. He is too young to know if he deserves to be loved, all he knows is people actively ignore him, Julian steps away when Maven approaches. Annabel huffs and only talks to Maven in small sentences. Tiberias takes a couple more gulps of his amber drink when Maven tries to talk to him. 

“In love.”

Maven wants to be in love, he wants to look nice for someone, he wants his eyes to glaze over, he wants to wear pretty things to catch their attention. He wants to be like Vitra, he wants to be Vitra. To live a life of love like Vitra.

Elara had said love was pain, but Vitra didn’t cry about it, she smiled. She smiled at every mention of Seavus. Vitra was happy to be in love.

Was.

“Pain.”

Elara wasn’t wrong, Elara was never wrong. Vitra was so happy to begin, she adored Saevus.

And then the bruises developed. 

They littered her body, sometimes she had to stay home and not work because it was so painful she couldn't move. Around her neck, finger-shaped colors spurred, deep purples, and reds, and blacks splash around her tanned skin. 

Maven reaches out to graze the colorful flesh, and she flinches away. Vitra, the girl that would allow him to press his fingers deep into her flesh so he could see it change colors, flinched away from him. She was terrified of the tiny boy with sky eyes and warm flesh, she was terrified he would try and hurt her. 

"I'm totally in love."

When Elara found out just how much the bruises disturbed Maven, she had Vitra fired. Maven was quick to protest, he didn’t want the poor woman to have to depend on the kitchen boy.

"She'll see him less if they don't work in the same place," Elara claimed.

Elara does not allow her son to be weak, she does not allow him to act saintly. To react to sob stories, he is not allowed to be a doormat. But she makes an exception for this, she makes an exception because Maven's behavior changes because of it. She appeases his compassion because it means the red will be gone, and Maven will no longer act so oddly. 

Maven knows his father and mother do not love each other. He knows that Tiberias only ever loved the last queen, the dead one. The queen made of gold and sunlight and soft words and gravestones. 

Maven wonders if his love is why she died.

Elara does not love Tiberias, Tiberias does not love Elara. Their relationship is built on politics and power, ability and traditions. They do not love each other, they never will love each other. 

And still, Maven fears for his mother's safety. Love is painful, it's made of anger and bruises. Brutality and wounds.

Maven sits closer to Elara at dinners.

"I can't cut my steak."

He claims, as if the servants don't do that for him. As if the servants don't do everything the mother is supposed to do.

Late at night Maven would crawl out of his bed, cold and quiet he would creep through the halls, attracting as little attention as possible. It's more difficult than you think, he has to sneak out of his room, guarded 24/7, and into another. 

His mother's room is relatively easy to get into, a few tears and a tug on the sentinel's sleeves and he's in.

His mother is never happy to see him, Elara has not been happy to see him once in his short life. She sends him away when he would try to stay, to protect her from the cruelties that love could bring. 

With all the stress, all the pain, and all the worry, came the night terrors that would wreck Maven's body and stretch his nights. 

"Another nightmare?" Cal rubs his eyes, sleepily sitting up in bed. Maven nods even though he knows Cal can't see him in the dark room. 

Elara never allows Maven to seek comfort in her after a nightmare, but that's fine with Maven, Cal was always more comforting anyways. Cal could always pull him from paranoia that drowns him. Cal destroys the villains in his brain that drag him into the depths of inky darkness, the ones that love him so completely, that tear at his flesh and covers him in bruises. The darkness that reveals the muscles and bones under his smooth skin.

A figure, unidentifiable made up on dark shadows and pointy shards. It reaches into the depths of Maven's chest and rips out his heart. It squeezes and squeezes. The pain ripples through him and tears at his throat, it feels like death, death without any relief, a death that doesn’t end.

And then he shoots up in bed, nightmares blinking away to make room for reality, and he’d sit there, blankets clutched hard in his tiny fists for hours, or minutes, time ceased to exist in the panic. 

There was no scary monster in his closet or under his bed, they only lurked in his mind, crawling around looking for the right moment to strike and kill.

Sleep was always too difficult after, the terror would hold me hostage in consciousness. So, Maven goes to Cal, everytime. He'd run to his darling big brother, teary eyed and panicked. 

Cal may not have those nightmares, he was a relatively happy child, but he'd lift his covers to allow Maven into his cocoon of warmth and safety. And in Maven's tiny hands he'd clutch the only thing his father ever put thought into buying him.

A small bear, black fur and red brown eyes. It reminds him of Cal, his strong older brother who he adores so dearly. It’s Maven’s favorite thing, he never goes anywhere without it and no one, not even his mother, can take it from him.

“ _You sure do love that bear, Mavey.”_

Cal laughed a hearty laugh, kind and non-judging in the most judging way. Maven stares down at the smiling bear in his hands.

If he loves the bear, he must love Cal. That’s how that works, right?

Maven remembers the bruises, all purple and red and black.

Cal wouldn’t bruise those same colors, the difference in blood colors would cause it to be more green and grey and black.

He’d bruise all the same.

The bear was gone the next day, thrown out the window to the rose garden below. Maven stopped sleeping in Cal’s bed in fear of hurting him.

Elara probably saw it as a win, she probably thought of it as Maven no longer depending on Cal, growing away from him.

But he wasn’t growing away from him, no, Maven ripped himself away from Cal, tore his skin apart to get away. The nightmares plagued him still, he screamed his throat raw and pained. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus in class. 

Maven Calore was ruined by it.

_“Poor Baby,”_ Elara cooed at her son, her ability poking and prodding at his mind, _“You loved Cal too much and it caused you so much pain.”_

It was the plot twist of all plot twists, Maven had loved Cal too much and it had pained him, not Cal, him.

Maven ponders this information, questions it, tries his hardest to understand it, but he cannot.

He still can’t sleep, still woke up at night screaming, the only time Maven slept was when the sleep exhaustion overpowers the fear.

_"The nightmares won't let me sleep,"_ Maven confided in his Mother.

_"If that is the case I will take away your dreams,"_ She whispered into his head, her words echo in his skull, _"The good, and the bad."_

And so he doesn’t dream. 

_“Love is pain,”_ he reminds himself constantly, everytime there’s a pretty girl or beautiful boy, _“love is pain,”_ he can never forget, never risk falling in love.

_"You're so frail Mavey!"_ Cal would giggle as the younger Calore wept over a scraped knee, _"You'd shatter at the feeling of real pain!"_

Maven doubts he is wrong, he could never live with it.

The front is full of pain, the agony of bullets jammed into limbs, shards of metal slice open fragile flesh, boulders crush bones, screams so loud it makes ears bleed.

The front is full of pain. 

But that pain heals, the cool hands of a skonos erases every scar. But even with skin as clear and untouched as it was when they first arrived they can still remember the pain

Healers don't have the ability to take the memories of losing comrades away, of being damn certain that death was looming over his shoulder, waiting to strike. 

Maven stumbles, the fear coursing through his body again. He didn’t know the man, he wasn’t anyone important, just another body sacrificed to a useless war.

Maven still remembers watching his black eyes empty of life, watching the nothingness creep into his face. Death is void of suffering, but it is also void of happiness.

Nothing can take away the memories of it.

Maven had begged his mother, had sobbed at her feet, a broken and weak man. He’d begged for the memories to go away, begged for the man’s eyes to stop haunting his every moment.

_"I can't take away your memories, only suppress them."_

It mostly worked, Maven doesn’t think about it as much, but when he does it’s a million times worse. The pain makes his knees give out, it makes his vision edge on black. He gasps hard for the air that refuses to enter his body.

He’s a crumpled mess on the floor, his breathing short and hard and he can’t see anything. Maven Calore has no strength to respond to the sudden knocking on his door, he can’t tell them to leave or to come in.

The knocking continues, loud and brutal. It punches through Maven’s head and overwhelms him completely. He wants nothing more than for it to stop.

And it does, instead the knocker swings the door open with a creek. Maven can’t see them and he can’t find the will to get up and look to the intruder. Maven’s a useless body heaving in deep gulps of air.

The intruder could do anything to him and he couldn’t even try to fight back.

The thought terrifies Maven, it scares him because he doesn’t know their motives, scares him because he wouldn’t even have the energy to scream if they tried something.

It scares him because he can feel their hands on his shirt, and they might just take this opportunity.

It scares him because he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care what they do to him, it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t care.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sex in this chapter, but you know... it's always looming.  
> This chapter is still dedicated to Amelia, who talked to me about how awful I am for not giving her the fluffy stories I write and just handing her shit like this while I was editing this chapter. You're a real one Am.  
> (And of course, my girlfriend who read it, looked me in the eye, and told me I'm cruel and then went back to snuggling me, love you too May-May)

_"At first, I just wanted to run away. Now I have nowhere else to run to, nothing to run from. I don’t belong anywhere, I don’t want to go anywhere, and I just want to be happy and to never have to feel this pain again, to not hate myself in every way, shape or form. I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and not feel violated of my own body, of what every single one of them did to me."_

_~L.o_

____

The intruder does not take the opportunity like Maven had fretted over, he simply removes the shirt and rubs gentle, soothing, circles on his spine.

They don’t move from that for several minutes, and as time passes, Maven realizes just how much calmer he is; he can breathe, the air fills his lungs in an even rhythm, and he can move his limbs too.

He’s just ridiculously exhausted now. His eyes fill with sleepy comfort, ready to nod off at any time.

“Better?” The stranger, a boy, asks. Maven finally gains the energy to roll over and look at him. 

He’s… not what Maven had expected. 

He’s gorgeous, Maven can recognize that, with thick curling strands of chestnut hair and lightly tanned skin. And he has these eyes… brown, the color of amber and sunlight. They are warm, and inviting, and… and Maven’s staring.

Maven almost blushes, but then he sees the boy staring back, and it’s like all the life is sucked out of those beautiful eyes. All that’s left is a heartless abyss, and it both terrifies and enthralls the burner boy.

“Uh,” Maven stammers for his words, and lets his eyes slip away from the older boy, he’s worried that if he stays staring into the abyss, he’ll trip and tumble into the void. Instead, he focuses his eyes on the fingernails pressed hard into his papery skin, “I’m fine.”

He attempts at the lie, but it’s obvious his heart is running a million miles per hour. Perhaps it’s fear that’s running through Maven’s thin body, or maybe it’s something else, something that causes his stomach to flip and turn and rock and twist, something that makes him sick to his stomach and also crushingly calm.

No, it must be fear.

“Ah,” The stranger’s kind smile twists upwards into a smirk, Maven watches them in fascination, “There is no need to lie to me.”

Maven tilts his head, there’s something about this boy that makes him different than all the other people Maven has met in his life. He leans and continues to stare at his lips, expecting the answers to fall from them at any moment.

The answers do not fall from his lips, they stick to it in a color so unnatural to Maven and the people he knows.

They are red, this boy is a red.

Maven jolts back hard, Elara would certainly punish him for cozying up to some red creep who thinks he can just enter wherever he pleases. Elara would probably punish him for even letting the red touch him without explicit consent, and that they had hands unmarred by flames for it.

“Oh, don’t worry about little ol’ me,” The stranger’s smirk widens, like a bobcat seeing it’s pray wounded upon the ground, the thought makes Maven shiver, “I won’t tell anyone of this… attack,” He phrases it lightly, but threateningly and it dawns on Maven that he hadn’t even thought about what would happen in the other soldiers found out how weak he is.

He was always weak compared to Cal, but to be weak in general was just a low Maven couldn’t live with everyone knowing. He’d be a target to all, power-thirsty nobles and Lakelander soldiers alike.

It’s almost funny to him, that the young boy with so much government influence can be taken down by such little things like memories.

The stranger lets out a strangled laugh that vibrates up Maven’s spine and makes him grimace, “If you do something for me, that is.” 

Damn him.

Thomas, his name is Thomas. He’s a red boy from the northern cities of Norta, he has a mother, and his father died when he was young.

He’s proved himself to be a good judge of character, and for that, Maven allows him by his side.

No other reason.

None.

Thomas likes to blackmail, using Maven’s weaknesses and ugly pieces against him, and sometimes it shakes Maven to the core, others it makes him stop, makes him think.

Thomas is a red, no status, no class, not a dollar to his name. He wouldn’t be believed, how would he know anything.

That logic would have worked in the beginning, but as more time passes by, Maven realizes so many people see them together so often, it builds Thomas’ credit. Maven is damning himself, and he’s in too deep to pull out now.

His first request was simple, soap.

“I know you silvers have that really fancy shit,” Thomas picks under his nails at the dried blood and dirt, the grin on his face had yet to fade. The warm sunlight cast in from the windows paint him golden and soft, and if Maven squints enough, he can almost pretend he looks kind, “The stuff that makes your hands soft and smells like lavender or some shit.”

Maven couldn’t see any reason to refuse, it’s a bar of soap, not a contract to sell his life and freedom to the boy. So Maven obliged and retrieved a bar of thyme-scented soap for Thomas, he didn’t have lavender in his bathroom.

On the next occasion, Thomas requested bread, Maven’s dinner rolls, to be exact, for every meal onward. Maven never much liked bread, even though Cal always told him to eat it, carb loading, he swears it makes the fights easier.

Maven disagrees on that, nothing makes the fights easier, he might as well enjoy the meal that could possibly be his last, so he stuffs the rolls into his pockets and carries them back to the red.

There were others, small ones for small faults, Maven insulted one of the noblemen under his breath, suddenly Thomas has a new hat, Maven trips up the stairs, and suddenly Thomas is having steak for dinner.

Maven accidentally admits to sleeping in Cal’s bed when he was younger, suddenly Thomas is sleeping in Maven’s.

Maven actually tried to protest this one, tried to convince him to at least sleep on the floor, Maven has a reputation to uphold and would prefer to come home to a slightly less displeased mother than if he’d been sleeping together with the boy.

Thomas tilted his head at an angle, looking up from the floor to where Maven is perched on his bed, he laughs his chilling, empty laugh and says in the most unrealistic falsely saddened tone Maven has ever heard, “Don’t you trust me?”

No. 

No Maven doesn’t trust him, and he shouldn’t, Thomas is something Maven doesn’t understand and he knows, he knows he shouldn’t trust him.

Yet still, he finds himself awake late at night, struggling to breathe with the weight on the shirtless red crushing him with his body weight. Maven hates it, it’s those damn nightmares all over again, and he can’t go on like this forever.

Maven sighs a sad and quiet tone at the scalding water that washes away the dirt and grime of the battle. He stares as liquid silver is washed down the drain, the color of mercury, the consistency of blood.

He wonders if it should be considered blood, if silvers in general should be considered human, they aren’t, not in his mind.

He sighs again and lets all the thoughts in his head wash away to nothingness, He thinks of nothing, he hears nothing, he sees nothing, all he knows is the hot pressure of water splashing against his skin.

“Maven,” Thomas sings with devious mock; Maven flushes with the knowledge that he was so in his head he not only forgot to lock the door, but he also didn’t even hear it open.

“Yes, Thomas?” Maven squeaks out, he sounds like a mousy and startled boy. One with no power or class, helpless in all ways.

Thomas laughs, breathy and dark.

“I’ve decided on my price to keep quiet about this morning.”

That morning was awful, Maven woke up lost and confused and on the floor. He isn’t known for rolling in his sleep, so he isn’t sure how he ended up there, but he suspected it had something to do with the boy lying next to him.

Thomas is the opposite of Maven in nearly all ways, especially sleep. Where Maven is silent and still and is the epitome of death, Thomas snores and he rolls and sometimes he grabs at Maven in his sleep, pressing dark fingerprints on his neck or digging his teeth into Maven’s pale neck.

Well, that morning, Maven didn’t wake to that, he woke to the sensation of heavy and hot and vibrant and mid moan.

Thomas chuckled at him, his fingers drawing at Maven’s waist, “Did sleeping next to me get you that hot and bothered?”

Maven was mortified; he flushed white as paper and shivered in fear. He was trapped between stages of sleep and stages of arousal, and it was awful, terrifying.

He was very mad at Thomas, and madder at his own body.

Maven is fifteen! His body is crazy with hormones, and he can’t control that! 

Thomas looked at him in a scary way this morning, full of want and desire and anger. Maven didn’t like it, didn’t like being the subject of his attention. Maven didn’t like the terror that shivered through his spine and wrapped around his throat. 

And throughout the day, Thomas just kept touching him, he always had a hand on the smaller boy, whether it was holding his waist or his butt, there was, without a doubt, a hand on him at all times.

Maven runs at his bare wrists, his flame maker bracelet he usually wears was removed to keep it from rusting in the water. Now it lays on the counter, closer to Thomas than to Maven.

Maven isn’t stupid, he realizes Thomas has some sort of bad intent, that’s why he’s telling Maven this at his most vulnerable. Maven is naked, weaponless, and soaked to the bone

“And what is it you want?” Maven asks, shutting his eyes to ignore the growing fear in the pit of his stomach. His fight or flight instincts kicking in and the adrenaline in his veins ramping up. And when Maven feels the fingers grab at his waist, he chooses flight.

Or well, he tried.

Thomas holds him in his arms, keeping him from dashing away. Maven struggles and struggles and just ends up tiring himself out.

When Maven stops struggling, Thomas twirls the naked boy to face him and throws him against the cold tiles.

Maven’s breath leaves his lungs and his body shrieks with pain. He opens his mouth to scream.

Thomas cuts him off. 

Maven’s never been kissed before, he has never even wanted to be kissed before. But here he is, pressed between tile and the warm body of Thomas. 

Maven is embarrassed beyond all belief, he’s flushed to the color of clouds and he’s naked, naked and Thomas is dressed.

It might have actually been worse if Thomas wasn’t dressed, but Maven doesn’t think about that, he thinks about how embarrassing it is to have his nude body in the demanding hands of the older boy.

The only form of comfort Maven has is that Thomas is dressed and that means he, hopefully, doesn’t plan to try anything.

He pulls Maven off the wall and presses his thin body, flushed against his own. Thomas’s tongue draws into his mouth, soft and warm, wet and slimy. 

Maven cries around it, begging for it to stop. He pleads and cries into the cave while struggling against Thomas’s grip, but Thomas is taller and stronger. 

He can’t manage to get away, but he does manage to aggravate him.

He regrets aggravating him immediately.

Maven’s body slams against the wall and away from the other boy, the contact of our lips rip violently apart. His spine rams into the valve and it sends shots of pain all over his chest, causing his body to crumple onto the shower floor.

“A kiss,” Thomas finally answers, as if I had no idea what he did to me as if it had just been a kiss, not my first kiss, not an assault, not violence, and not any of the things that it actually was.

He leaves Maven on the shower floor by himself, his body shaking and his fingers drag against his bottom lip. It hurts, his lips are sore from the abuse, it would swell and bruise.

Pain.

Is this love? Is love being grabbed and thrown around?

Probably.

Thomas kissed him out of nowhere, that’s something that happens in all those romance movies that Maven isn’t permitted to watch. That’s love, so surely this must have been?

Love…

Thomas is in love with Maven? Or is Maven in love with Thomas?

Thomas kisses Maven constantly now, pulling him into dark corners, grabs him out of the shower, and yanks him onto the bed. He also really likes biting apparently, he likes ripping at Maven’s flesh with his teeth, tasting the silver blood in his mouth, and he likes pulling away to watch it drip down the smaller boy’s pale chin.

Thomas grabs Maven’s hips and yanks him from the hallway and away from any prying eyes. They’re in a smaller meeting room that’s used far less than any of the others and Maven thanks the high houses that no one would be coming in anytime soon.

Thomas pushes Maven onto the table, his hands gripping tight on his boney hips, handprints will bruise into them later and it hurts Maven, he doesn’t like it, he hates it.

He hates it, hates it, hates it.

He loves it.

He loves him, he loves Thomas and he thinks Thomas loves him too.

No, Thomas must love him too, he has to, why else would he hurt him so?

Thomas lips the silver lips to shreds with his sharp teeth, teeth like a monster; it’s so full of passion and pain and love. Their teeth clink uncomfortably and their moves are out of sync, like toddlers learning to walk for the first time.

Thomas knows what he is doing, but for some reason he can’t put Maven in line, he can’t even get him on the same book.

Maven’s pretty much abandoned attempts of responding to the kisses, Thomas doesn’t like it when he does and he’s pretty bad at it so he sits there, soft and pliable in the beautiful boy’s hands, like clay, or something lower, like dirt.

The only responses Thomas allows are sharp gasps tugged out of his lungs by hands and teeth or the tears threatening his eyes from the violence of it all.

It’s love.

It doesn’t really feel like this is happening to him, he feels detached. It’s wrong, Maven Calore, son of Elara Merandus and Tiberias Calore the Sixth, can’t be in love, and certainly not with a red. It’s impossible, red’s don’t have the power to hurt Maven. This is all happening to someone else, someone far away who doesn’t know that it’s wrong and impossible, someone who has never heard the name “Calore” and has no idea of the power and strength it holds.

When Thomas is done with Maven's body, with his lips and his touch, he pulls away and walks out with sudden force. Maven's world is spinning and he has to continue on, to move forward like nothing has ever changed, like he's never been kissed like this and loved like this.

He’s twirling like a ballerina, spiraling like a vortex.

Falling like a leaf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This book makes me want to drink.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicating this once again to my beautiful girlfriend who sent me pictures of her cat's napping on her computer while I was trying to write.
> 
> (And to you, Amelia, who finally read the first chapter of this book to "spite me" but only ended up falling for my trap.)

_“To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.”_

_~George Macdonald_

____

“I love you,” Maven practices to the mirror. It’s such a simple phrase, and yet it means so much. He loves him, he loves Thomas. He feels his body shake with the truth of it.

“I love you,” Maven shivers, the sound of his voice dripping in anguish and fear.

By admitting he’s in love, he’s laying his head on the chopping block, and his darling holds the axe, always ready to swing down and end the young boy’s life. He’s handing Thomas the whip and tensing his muscles, already expecting the sharp sting and the loud crack. He’s handed over his life to him, his shattered soul, his broken body, and his cold heart. All of it, all of Maven, for Thomas.

He’s in love, in love with the man-made of violence, a man glittering in void and darkness, a man that leaves dark welts all over his body. 

Thomas is beautiful in a religious way. Men and women would throw themselves down at his feet for any sort of acknowledgment. A scrap of adoration is enough to put someone on a different path, always seeking that same feeling. But he has no adoration to hand out, he holds himself like if you tried hard enough, if you stretch farther, jump higher, you might get it, but you won’t, it doesn’t exist. He makes you want to change, to bend to his beck and call, but he’ll never give away any satisfaction at your change. Thomas is a lowly thing, beneath Maven in every way, he is nothing more than the dirt beneath Maven’s shoes, he’s a red and yet he is higher than all. No god made of glitter and gold could even begin to challenge him. Thomas would bring it to its pristine knees and laugh as it suffers and withers away under his sharp, piercing gaze. He is everything, and he is nothing, he is all Maven needs, all Maven wants.

People say Maven is beautiful too, and that’s relatively true, but Maven beautiful in a different way, in a cruel way. He is not any religious figure, he’s not ruining gods, he is simply brutal. Maven is made of temptations, of stark contrasts, black hair on white skin on blue eyes. He is a night sky, the moon, and the stars and all the unreachable heavens that do not and have never existed. And humans love to reach the unreachable, they love to put their grimy hands-on things that belong to the gods. To taint the pure, to destroy virtue and innocence.

Human beings are truly disgusting, red or silver, men or women, all of them, disgusting things. Things made of want and desire and dirt. They are cruel and revolting.

There was a man, a general, who claimed Maven was cruel in his beauty, he claimed Maven should be nothing more than an item on the shelf to be stared at and played with. Maven hated him, he hated the way his breath always smelled of alcohol, the way his fingers would graze Maven’s inner thighs, he hated everything about him. He hated his ugly green eyes; he hated the ugly skin littered with freckles and wrinkles and other disgusting imperfections.

He was 48 years old, experienced in the field, and a great soldier, a valuable asset, and a respected man. His life meant something, and everyone wanted to keep him alive less they’d be overtaken at war. There were few things he could do that would justify his death.

_“Gorgeous boy, why must you be so cruel?”_

The general had asked, he had Maven alone, no one there to stop his words from infecting Maven’s mind, stop his hands from corrupting Maven’s body. No one could stop him from grabbing Maven’s body and claiming it as his own, touching him like he was allowed to like he was meant to.

Maven was stuck with this monster, stuck with hands on his body and he felt scared, he shook and whimpered. He felt like a child again, a child being plagued by nightmares.

The monster was back, the void began to suck him in, and Maven wanted Cal, Maven wished to escape into the warm embrace of his elder brother.

_“Your body was made to be touched by people like me, men like me.”_

Men like him, what did that even mean? Cruel men? Awful, disgusting men? The men that are better off dead, that just plague society and corrupt the small innocent children? Those kinds of men?

He held the thirteen-year-old from behind, his head pressed into Maven’s neck. His hands drift over Maven’s clothes. His flat palms take over Maven’s chest, and when they touch his stomach, Maven’s reflexes kick in and force him backwards, away from the hands and into the body behind him. His body pressed tight against the older man’s, and the general mistakes instinct for desire.

_“A young, beautiful body. The only thing you’ll ever be good for.”_

Maven only managed to escape his touch when they were embarrassingly interrupted by Samson. Who faced everything with the calm demeanor he always wears, even as he stood watching the half-naked man stumble away from the child laid out on the table. Samson explained he had been looking for Maven and heard Maven’s chaotic and panicked thoughts.

Samson reported all of it to Elara, Maven wasn’t there and wasn’t called to give his own sort of testimony. He wouldn’t have wanted to anyway, he doesn’t want to think about the horrible man ever again.

The general avoids Maven, if Maven is to walk into the same room as him the old man runs off like a coward, unwilling to face the consequences of his own actions. 

Maven loves the power rush it gives him, he did that to that proud man, he made him fear the touch of his own hands. He feels strong and great, nothing can touch him, nothing can bring him down.

During a small battle, a soldier “misfired” and hit the general in the neck. Maven watched him crumple to the ground, trying his best to cry for a healer of some sort, but she was too busy filing her nails to save him.

Maven wondered if it was planned, and he knows it was, the generals life did not trump the appearance of strength the royal boy must have.

It was a choice, Maven or the General and Elara Merandus had chosen her weak, childish, son.

Maven smiled as he watched the life drain from the crumpled form, it should have made him sick, it should have made him woozy and his head spin. Cal ran over to grab Maven and shield him from the view and Maven laughs into his chest.

Cal must have mistaken it for sobbing because he rubbed circles onto his back, whispering softly and kindly into his ear.

Cal would later take the position of the general, just for a temporary time, until he returns to the capitol officially and begins the extensive preparation to take over the throne.

 _“Your body means nothing,”_ Elara told him, her bony hands petting his hair, gentle but sharp and kind of scary, it was just a few days after the general’s death that she appeared at the front. Her arms open for her broken son, _“It’s your power that matters.”_ She tells him, and he believes it, he believes everything his mother says to him. 

But Maven has no power over Thomas, for Thomas fears nothing. No amount of pain, of death, or threatening could give Maven the advantage in this situation. Nothing could make his bones rattle or warp the joyful smile into a genuine show of fear.

And Maven might be okay with not being in power, he might be okay being beneath Thomas.

Sure, it’s non-traditional, to have a red, a lowly thing like that, control you. Something so poor and gross and unpowerful touching on and holding the rich boy, it’s most certainly something new and breaks all the codes Maven is supposed to live by. But Maven might be okay with that. He’s okay with being controlled if it’s by someone he loves.

Maven’s never much-liked tradition anyways

“I love you,” Maven repeats, trying to add a touch of control to his voice. Dominance and in charge. He isn’t, he’s not much more than a puppet that Thomas swings around whenever he so feels like it.

Maven was supposed to be royalty, one of the most powerful and dominant players in the game of life, but whenever he’s with Thomas, he’s nothing. Maven becomes nothing and the whole world moves on without him. It makes him feel so unnecessary, not even Thomas needs him. Thomas just _wants_ him. And Maven isn’t sure that he knows what that reason is, but he hopes it’s love.

” Isn’t vanity supposed to be a bad thing?” Thomas laughs from the doorway, his voice soft and sweet, like a lullaby. The sound of it send Maven’s mind languid and pliable. Thomas head leans against the frame comfortably, peaceful and serene. His hair tousled with sleep, and for a second, just a second, Maven thinks he’s someone else. Someone made of soft edges and quiet words. Someone he isn’t, someone without sharp teeth and empty eyes.

And then he moves.

There’s personality in the way Thomas moves, it’s like a cat stalking their prey. He is slow and deliberate, and every step he takes looks like danger. Thomas is dangerous, a terrifying thing that no one taught Maven to deal with, Maven had been prepared for everything, just not this, not Thomas. Not the man who bleeds red and is made of holy intentions.

Thomas is an anomaly, a thing made of mismatched items. A red boy with power, that, he had not been prepared for. Nothing like Thomas has ever existed before. He is god and for once, Maven feels like falling to his knees and praying for forgiveness, he feels like a believer.

Thomas presses his lips against Maven’s, Thomas is warm, a raging inferno as compared to Maven, who is made of ice, who is melting in his touch. It should be the other way around, Maven,the burner made of fire so hot it burns blue, he should be warm, he should be the thing so unbearably warm it causes nausea to stir in Thomas’ stomach. Not the other way around.

The kiss is softer than any of the others, like a cloud, soft and slow and _kind_. Thomas had never been kind before, he was always made of cruelty and punishment. He is karma, if a thing like that exists, if a thing like him exists.

_Is this love?_

He pulls away slowly, Maven doesn’t want it to end, he likes this, he likes this side of love. Maven doesn’t want the pain he just wants this, whatever this is.

“I love you.” 

He smiles at Maven’s words, a kind smile.

Kind, kind, kind. He’s being kind, and somehow that makes him even crueler.

_Do you love me too?_

“Oh, I know,” Thomas talks like he is so above Maven, the kind of voice you’d use if you were filing your nails to sharp points while the other drawls on with boring nonsense, it’s like he is a god and Maven is nothing but a lowly insect, an ant or a worm shriveling up on the sidewalk on a hot summer’s day. His eyes say nothing, no kindness, no disgust, nothing. They are voids of emptiness as they’ve been since the day they met. They never change.

Maven feels like he means nothing to the red boy.

He doesn’t want to believe that. He has to mean _something_ to him, he has to. Thomas must love him too. Why else would he hurt Maven so much? 

Maven is as fragile as a crystalline wine glass, full of an intoxicating liquid that may stain fine clothing if he shatters. And he will shatter if Thomas doesn’t love him too.

He can’t fall apart, he can’t shatter, he won’t survive to pick up the pieces. 

“Don’t you love me too?” Maven tries, voice draining of all dominance and Thomas chuckles, he laughs at Maven and turns away.

Thomas leaves him there, standing there in the cold bathroom, and he feels cold. He is made of ice, and he’ll never melt. 

He cracks.

He shatters.

“Are you alright?” Cal asks, stuffing a roll into his mouth, like a squirrel stuffing acorns away to carry off back home, “You look… different.”

Maven has never much liked lying to Cal, Cal is his golden rule, and the idea of tainting his mind with falsities saddens Maven. It’s like betraying the brother Maven once held so dear, and Maven would never betray him.

“I’m just really tired,” it’s not a complete lie, it’s half-truth nature makes Maven nauseous, and it feels heavy and wrong on his tongue. But Maven does seem to be getting less and less sleep with this whirlwind of “love.” 

It’s exhausting is what it is, silver marks littering his neck have to be covered by a turtle neck or scarf, which by itself isn’t a totally uncommon look for Maven, it just begins to look a bit suspicious when he’s missing half of the meetings and a red boy is attached to his hip. 

No one ever asks, they just give him those looks when he shows up late with his hair ruffled.

Cal doesn’t notice, Cal never really noticed most things. Cal assumed he slept in or took a nap, blamed it on the exhaustion of fighting and war.

Love feels a bit like a war. Maven always feels like he is fighting a war, and he’s losing.

“Are you having nightmares again?” Cal leans forward to pet Maven’s hair, he’s so caring, and Maven leans into the touch. Maven feels like a pet, but a loved pet. A pet that is well treated and adored, the kind of pet that is sleeping on their master’s pillows while their master curls uncomfortably around them.

He missed his brother, his brother is golden as soft, like a cloud right as the sun rises. It’s sweet and beautiful, and Maven feels happy, happier than he’s been in a while.

He pulls away from the touch.

“No,” Maven whispers, and at least this is totally true.

The nightmares have been having him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I had prewritten so the next chapters may take even longer to come out. Sorry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried to make this a full 2500 words, as is my goal for every chapter, but my bitch ass has been through some fucking shit this month, let me tell yah.  
> Wrote this portion and got ready to write the next part, which, boy oh boy, is a sex scene, between two men, I'm a lesbiannnnn. I don't know how shit works at all so I've got to do some research.  
> I uh... I forgot where I was going with that. But in other news I'm currently in the hospital, not with the coronavirus though I did think for a straight second that's what it was since I was coughing up blood, I broke up with my gem of a girlfriend who deserves the world and not my crazy ass, my Abuela died, I'm being enrolled in catholic school, and my dad canceled all my therapy appointments (God will heal you of your PTSD my daughter) so I'll probably end up writing my bewitched series more than this since that one is a whole ass vent about my sad.  
> Long story short, I'm dying, and dying to get everything wrapped up.  
> PSA: I have no confirmation that I am dying, therefore I may live, I've not been given a time limit... yet.

_ “I fold and fold _

_ I try to disappear.” _

_ ~Jenny Molberg _

____

Three AM blinks scarlet on the clock pushed over and to the side of Maven’s desk, it's half-covered by crumpled balls of paper. He’s spent the past several long hours staring at pristine white sheets of paper in front of him, words will occasionally grace him with their presence before being thrown to the side.

Originally, Maven was just trying to avoid Thomas's empty state and warm hands by telling him he was off to write a letter to his mother.

Thomas hates Elara, he's never met her but he avoids anything to do with her. If Maven gets a letter from his Mother he'll leave and not come back for hours, if Maven so much as mentions the woman that gave him life Thomas becomes puffed up and annoyed and may at times even become violent towards Maven, pushing him around or hitting him.

It makes Maven feel… guilty. Like he never should have mentioned her. Like Elara Merandus killed Thomas's mother and kicked his dog.

Maven supposes it makes some sense, Thomas is a red and a silver queen wouldn't hesitate to kill him, especially not one who is aware of how Thomas loves Maven.

Maven freezes, Elara had the general killed for his acts against her son, Thomas would stand no chance against her icy wrath. He'd be forced to tear himself limb from limb while Maven watched, frozen to his place, staring with a blank face, never changing.

He can't risk letting one of his few precious things be stolen from his life. To watch Thomas' corpse lay still before his feet would all out break Maven.

There'd be nothing left of the young boy made of glass and fragile pieces. It would all be abyss and void, empty and never-ending. 

But Maven doesn't know how to hide anything from Elara. Elara has laid Maven's secrets and darkest desires bare before the small boy, she has punished him time and time again for attempting to hide things from her. At this point, Maven doesn't know what parts of his mind she's seen and what she hasn't. 

He doesn't know _ how _ to hide things from her.

It’s hard enough with Samson, Samson who can peer into his mind like a child peeking through blinds, always seeing just the perfect imperfections to return to Elara's hand. Luckily for Maven, Samson is far less talented than Elara so Maven can always tell when he’s trying to get into his head and can minimize most damage.

Maven taps his pencil back on the paper trying to think of anything to write, something to send home and soothe his mother’s constant need for contact. This is where he’d fill it with information on the war, people he ran into, issues he was having. It’s usually more a report than a letter really.

But Maven can’t imagine trying to write any of that, it’s too exhausting to even form in his own mind let alone write onto a sheet of paper.

He’s tired and Thomas is bound to be asleep by now so Maven just writes, letting his pencil drift along the page with unconsidered words and thoughts. It’s short and vague and would certainly alarm his mother but it’s too late for Maven to consider taking it back.

_ “He’s draining me.” _

The words are sloppy and begin to lean towards the end and they are far too true, Thomas has ripped all of the false life Maven had in him and replaced it with complacency and exhaustion. But it doesn’t matter anymore what Elara would think, it doesn’t matter if she’d worry over her darling son because he’s too tired to care much right now anyway.

Maven drops the letter into a simple ivory envelope and seals it and the truth away from prying eyes.

Is love really supposed to feel like this? Is it really supposed to empty you of your contents? Is it supposed to make you stay up for hours and hours to avoid the hurt? Or is Maven playing the game wrong? Is Maven feeling things wrong?

Maven remembers the love that would plague his childhood sleep and decides that, no, he’s not wrong, this is love. This, this agony, that is what love feels like.

Maven drops the weighty letter into the communal mailing box on his way back to his room. It feels nice having the words gone and out of his sight, not having to worry about what they do or do not say, what they do or do not mean.

His feet pad silently along the concrete floors of the compound, his socks making soft sounds, like a slow heartbeat, steady and consistent.

Maven likes this, he likes the quiet of the night, likes the emptiness of the hallways. There’s no one there to cause Maven to fret over his appearance, no need for a facade, just quiet breaths and the humming sound of life.

He reaches his room far too soon, the quiet noise soon to be replaced by snores and the shifting sound that accompanies his nights with Thomas.

This is the man he fell in love with, Thomas, a red boy two years older than Maven himself. The one who leaves his presence all over Maven’s life. From the random appearance of his socks on Maven’s floor to the smell of him lingering on the towels.

It is both a comfort and a curse.

Maven creeks open the door and he hears soft snores, it's so unlike Thomas' usual loud snoring, it's quieter and full of breathy noises. It's peaceful compared to most nights.

Thomas looks good like this, in just the soft glow of candlelight and the plush blankets that keep him warm in the cold of the night. His back turned away from the door and Maven in particular. 

Maven wonders what the feeling in his chest is, the constricting nauseating feeling, so soft and cute that Maven would like nothing more than for the world to stop right here. Life can be over so long as it ends with this in his heart.

He can really only compare it to the feeling of glimmering joy, the kind of joy you feel after the sun comes out from a long winter, the kind of joy you feel when a butterfly lands on your shoulder.

And even that kind of joy didn't compare to what was echoing throughout the thin body of the boy.

He puts his thoughts aside for the night, he'll worry about them in the morning.

He slowly climbs into the bed next to Thomas, being careful not to wake him, he chooses to face away from Thomas, it's just easier to breathe like that.

When he gets himself all settled in he lets out a deep sigh of exhaustion and puts out his candle sitting on the bedside table.

As he begins to nod off to sleep Thomas shifts next to him, turning to curl around Maven's form, one arm holding the smaller boy tight to his body. 

"I love you," Thomas murmurs into Maven's ear.

Maven wakes at 5 in the morning, an hour earlier than he had before Thomas.

Everything is different now.

_ "I love you." _

It rings in his ear as he slips out of the bed. Today is off in every way, Thomas isn't still snoring, instead, he's missing and the sound of running water in his stead.

_ "I love you." _

Maven smiles, touching the spot beside him where the lover that said those soft words next to him had laid, it was still warm with all those soft emotions that touch Maven and held him close.

Of course Thomas loves him, Thomas loves Maven, loves him, he  _ loves _ him. There was never anything to worry about, no reason to lie awake at night.

Maven Calore, son of Elara Merandus and Tiberias Calore VI, is loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss my girlfriend, and even you, Amelia.  
> Anyways sex is next so I'll see you in like 7 months.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 girls sitting in a hospital 6 feet apart because at this point Corona would kill us both ♡  
> Ran into my ex-girlfriend in the hospital, it was awkward.  
> I'm sorry for this taking literally forever, but in my defense... I'm asleep half of the day because my treatment is exhausting. But, about the chapter.  
> When I say that I wrote three versions of this chapter I mean I wrote 3 completed versions of this chapter, dont get me fucking started on the number of times I started and erased and hours worth of work.   
> In other news, I've been reading a lot of fanfiction and I'm what I like to call a "copycat writer" if I enjoy a style or pretty much read any style I'll end up mimicking it, not always well, but if the style feels different blame me for reading fanfics smh.  
> Warning, the sex in this chapter starts fairly consensual but at the end there, not so much.

_ “Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing” _

~ _ Fyodor Dostoevsky _

____

Maven never much liked being touched, he enjoyed certain forms of human contact but his enjoyment ends at hugs, or with Thomas, kissing. But the soft type of kissing, brief and modestly restrained. Tongues are too soft, too wet for him. They taste weird and it's simply… unenjoyable, and he really doesn't enjoy having people touch the soft skin on his stomach, which is why he is having a hard time finding enjoyment in his and Thomas' current "date".

Date, it's what Thomas has been referring to their makeout sessions ever since the "I love you."

It's interesting, Maven always wanted a date, but he imagined it to be more… romantic. Or you know, anything that's not lying on his own bed with Thomas on top of him licking at his torso.

It's honestly just uncomfortable, who does this to themselves? Is this even common for people? 

Elara had said love was painful, not mildly irritating along with a side of disgusting slobber. 

"Thomas," Maven whines.

Thomas looks up at him with dull empty eyes. He doesn't look like he's enjoying this either.

"Can we do something else?" Maven begs, wanting nothing more than a towel and maybe a nap.

Thomas crawls off him contemplating, "You didn't enjoy that?" He asks, cocking his head to the side and staring down at the blue eyed prince, "Most people go wild for that."

Maven suddenly feels very flustered. Not only because this means he's acting incorrectly but it also insinuates that Thomas has gone on "dates" with more than just Maven.

Which is obvious given his experience. Maven had always sincerely doubted Thomas was in uncharted territory with the younger boy. But... Maven doesn't like thinking about the other people. He doesn’t like to wonder if they are better suited for Thomas than him. Better at loving him, at pleasing him.

Maven wonders if Thomas likes Maven’s inexperience, or if it’s a problem for him.

Either answer really causes some problems, if he likes how absolutely clueless he is then he may fall out of love with him when Maven starts getting the hang of relationships. But if he wishes he were more informed then he may give up on him completely.

“What would you rather we do?” Thomas questions, sitting back on his heels next to Mavens head.

“I-” Maven flushes white as snow, he’s embarrassed to be put on the spot like this, he's unsure of the correct answer. And with Thomas there is  _ always  _ a correct answer, “I don’t really know, this is all new to me.”

Thomas smiles down at him, his eyes shine with dark intent, “I know that,” He cards his fingers through the younger boy’s wild inky locks, "No need to be ashamed of it.”

Maven wonders now, not if Thomas likes his inexperience (it's obvious now that he does), but what happens after. When Thomas shows him what to do, when he becomes too skilled and Thomas no longer wants him. What happens then?

Can Thomas learn to love Maven even if it's different?

Will he have to find a new lover? Someone who likes the more experienced type.

No, Maven won't even consider letting go of this. Thomas means too much to him at this point.

He couldn't even think of living in a world that doesn't belong to Thomas, that doesn't spin around his lover.

A world that doesn't ache his bones and burn his eyes.

Somehow, Maven feels blind. He isn't, he can see perfectly fine, he can steer himself into the right direction perfectly fine. Nothing is wrong, Maven is fine, Maven is in  _ love _ , he's turned the right way, he's not falling or swerving and he's certainly not crashing. Being in love with Thomas is  _ right _ . It's right, it's the path meant for him.

But if that's true then why does Maven feel like he's about to collide with a tree? Why is his road, which was once straight with no turns or potholes, so bumpy? 

Why does he feel like everything is crashing? Like he's taking his last breath before everything goes black and the void drags him into the cold hands of death?

It has to be Maven's fault, he must have accidentally turned onto the wrong road. He needs to be guided back to the correct path.

And the one sitting in the passenger, handing directions out with soft whispers that feel like blades, is Thomas.

He'll do anything Thomas asks, change anything Thomas doesn't like. He will be anything Thomas wants and do anything Thomas wants him to do.

Anything.

"What should we do?" Maven blinks slowly, realizing he just answered Thomas' questions with another question.

Stupid boys are perfect for the shelf it seems.

Maven still isn't excited to do much of anything. He wants to stop this here and maybe try something at a later day.

Maybe in a few years, when he's an adult and is doing adult things.

Like paperwork.

Maven loves paperwork.

Maven also happens to be quite possibly the most boring person on planet earth. But that's alright, Maven will be Cal's advisor and isn't it better to like doing all that "boring stuff like politics" than be miserable doing all the work while Cal sits still and looks pretty?

Thomas continues with his empty eyed smile, “I’ll ask even though I know the answer,” Thomas swishes his head to the side, “Have you ever given a blow job?”

Maven blinks up at the red. A second passes.

Then two seconds.

“A…” Maven furrows his brow, “A blow-job?”

Thomas smiles bigger, the empty eyes turning to something evil and devious.

A dark pit of fear builds in Maven's stomach, he hates it when Thomas gets that look, it always means Maven has to do something he wouldn't want to.

Thomas hums thoughtfully, his eyes glaze over Maven's thin body with almost too much consideration. It makes Maven nervous, he could probably piece together a solid theory on what a blowjob is if he tried. But he chooses not to, because Thomas looks pleased with Maven's answer. And the brief seconds have not changed Maven's resolution to do whatever Thomas wants.

"I'll teach you," He tips his head to the side in thought, "sit on the floor."

Maven blinks but follows his instructions. More pieces of information fall into the puzzle of the meaning of the word blowjob but Maven still opts to push them aside and continue on as the clueless boy Thomas likes him to be.

"Good boy," Thomas praises and for some reason, despite it sounding like something you would say to a dog it improves Maven's mood.

Hell yeah, Maven  _ is _ a good boy, the best boy. The perfect boy for Thomas.

Thomas pulls down the elastic banded sweats that he had stolen from Maven's closet, exposing himself to the younger one. He shucks it off his legs, tossing it at Maven's face. He recoils from the attack, startled by the heavy grey fabric.

"Cutie," Thomas murmurs, his eyes twinkling, "I love it when you look like this."

"Like what?" Maven pulls the sweats off his face and drops them to the side, his words dripping with sarcasm, "covered in dirty laundry?"

Thomas' laugh is sharp enough to cut lines into Maven's heart, "No," He leans down, tracing a hand along Maven's jawline, tipping his head up towards Thomas. Sky blue eyes connect up to the clouded amber eyes, overcome with a hungry emotion, "Young."

Maven blinks,  _ 'Young?'  _ Why does Thomas like him to look  _ young _ ? What does that mean?

Thomas leans back, his fingers dragging away from his soft face. 

"Have you figured out what a blowjob is yet?" He smirks. 

Maven considered taking the clueless approach further by simply blowing air on Thomas' genitals but swiftly discards the idea. He can't even pretend to be that stupid. 

Still, Maven isn't sure how to best approach a "blowjob" it's new territory to him.

Well, everything with Thomas is new territory.

Maven leans forward deciding to go straight in and wrap his lips around the thick cock. He blinks for a couple seconds before pushing his own head down to take more in.

He yanks off Thomas, coughing hard from the horrible feeling.

When he looks up again, unsure if he wants to give it another try he sees Thomas watching him with his devious smile.

"Be careful," he warns uselessly, "you could choke."

Maven glares at him for no more than a mere second before leaning forward to try again.

He's determined to do this correctly.

Thomas curls his fingers in his hair, grabbing at the curled ebony, and Maven sinks his head back down again, slower this time.

Its uncomfortable, his jaw quickly begins to ache, the inside of his throat begin to hurt at the friction, and his face is dripping with spit.

The only redeeming quality about it is Thomas.

"Good," The red moans out, his dark eyes casting down to Maven, "You are doing so well."

Thomas struggles to keep his voice steady, he doesn't stutter though, Maven would have liked him too.

He groans every once in a while though, his eyes glaze over for no more than a few seconds before he snaps his attention back and yanks the younger boy by his hair.

He practically throws Maven to the ground, watching him ragdoll with the force of it.

"Hey!" Maven shouts, thrown out of his previous state in order to shout at Thomas who was crawling onto the floor, "What was that for!"

"Shut up," Thomas cuts off his complaints, pressing a hand harshly against the silver's mouth, "There is nothing I hate more than a whiny brat who doesn't know when to lay down and take it."

Maven's face pales with silver flush, he feels knots forming in his throat.

He's not sure what about that offended him so deeply, Thomas didn't really say Maven was a whiny brat.

Though, he did imply it.

"Oh don't cry," Thomas commands, rolling his eyes, "Come on, this isn't hot at all."

Thomas leans down, his mouth right beside Maven's ear. It's so close Maven can feel the movement when he says, "If you're going to cry at least fight me a little," Thomas's fingers creep down Maven's arm and closer to his wrist, "That's at least more fun."

Thomas slides the flame maker bracelet off his wrist and tossed it aside, somewhere under the bed and out of reach. Maven doesn't react in time to even attempt to stop him.

"What?" Maven jolts a bit, almost trying to sit up but the stronger frame keeps him down, "Why would you-?"

Thomas cuts him off with a kiss, using the distraction to remove the last of Maven's clothing.

Honestly, Maven didn't realise he was so hard before, but now it feels unbearable.

"Tho- Thomas!" Maven whimpers when Thomas rubs his hand up and down his hard length. Thomas chuckles, watching Maven squirm beneath him.

"So needy," he hums, stroking roughly at Maven while reaching over for a bottle.

He slowly takes one of the younger boy's pale legs and lifts it over his shoulder.

"So pretty," he murmurs into Maven's thigh, nibbling at it gently as one of his slippery fingers trail along his legs. Maven's mind swirled in confusion, this is all new territory to him and he's unsure how to feel about it.

Butterflies eat at his stomach, both vicious and soft.

Maven doesn't know much, unsure about how much he's going to enjoy the next moments of his life.

"You've jacked off before, right?" Thomas mutters, his fingers stalling momentarily to bore his gaze into Maven's.

Maven hesitates, startled by the whiplash the day was giving him. Eventually he nods slowly, ashamed. He opened his mouth to defend himself, 'it was only a few times' or 'I don't do it anymore!' But Thomas had already moved on.

"And when you get yourself off," his finger slid against Maven's butt, "have you ever fingered yourself?"

"No!" Maven jolts up, "I would never!"

Thomas blinks up at him, raising an eyebrow. 

"It's-" Maven shrinks back, laying down again, "that's wrong, and dirty. I wouldn't… I wouldn't do that."

Thomas smiles at him from between his legs, and empty, cold, smile.

Maven doesn't really enjoy having to look between his own thighs to watch what Thomas is doing.

"Have you?" Maven asks, suddenly unsure if he offended the older boy.

Thomas laughs "God no," he adjusts Maven's leg briefly before settling on his hands and knees above Maven, pushing his leg painfully high. His eyes soften ever so slightly as he stares down at the ocean colored eyes.

Then, the softness was gone, "But I'm not a fucking bottom, so I don't have any reason to."

"A bottom?"

Thomas laughs sharply, "You're basically the woman in this relationship." Maven blinks, shock running through his veins at the bluntness of it.

"Honestly," he sits up, taking in the pale boy beneath him, "I wouldn't mind seeing you all dressed up like one too," he bites his lower lip, staring down at him.

"That's a good idea," he nods to himself, turning to pour a slick liquid on his fingers, "I'll remember that for next time."

Maven wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"Well that's not a pretty face," Thomas laughs, his finger poking at Maven's tight entrance.

The tip of his finger slides in, causing Maven to gasp, jolting sharply.

"That's a better one."

Maven tried to grab at anything as he slides into the tight ring of muscle, he lets out a low moan at the strange sensation. He'd never really imagined what it would feel like to have something inside him and feeling it now he doesn't think it would have been possible to imagine.

Thomas presses in and out slowly, watching Maven's face intently.

He feels self conscious at the exposure, his tiny pale body completely on display for Thomas.

Thomas works at him for what feels like forever, inching him open. He presses another finger inside causing tremors in the small boy.

"Thomas," he whines, unsure of what exactly he's asking for. More certain than he, however, Thomas runs a hand up and down his thigh and removes his fingers.

Maven moans at the loss, bucking his hips for the friction.

His eyes fly open at the feeling of something at his entrance. He leans up to watch what was touching him.

Thomas's thick cock pushes into him, slowly entering the tight body.

He lets out a low growl of pure heat down at the smaller boy. Filling him up with his own arousal.

Maven twists his body, contorting at the uncomfortable feeling. It wasn't horrible or painful, but an odd stretch that did little to pleasure him.

"You'll get used to it." 

He presses in fully to Maven backside, filling him up thoroughly.

The unpleasant feeling subsided, allowing him to give an experimental rock of his hips.

"Nnnn," Thomas groans, grabbing at his waist to hold him still, "Fuck, Maven-"

Thomas rocks himself in and out, holding the other tightly.

Maven stares up at him, letting his mouth hang open, gasping at the force and pleasure of the act. The sound of lewd slick noises fill the room, making his head spin.

He had never considered doing something like this before, but now here he was, laying beneath someone his same sex, trying his best to stay still and not fuck himself on Thomas' cock.

"You're so fucking hot, Maven," He feels Thomas pound into him, and wonders briefly if that was a comment on his looks, or temperature.

"You have no idea how hard it was-" a sharp thrust, "to have waited this long for you," Another sharp thrust, he moans and arches his back off the floor, "The way you looked in that shower- so fucking pretty- dripping wet and naked and-"

"Mavey?" His blood freezes and Thomas comes to a stop, both staring at the door. The handle jiggles a bit, "Why is your door locked?"

"Don't make a sound," Thomas growls lowly, resuming his thrusts, with slightly less force. 

He writhes on the floor, both not wanting Thomas to stop and also, really wanting Thomas to stop. The thought of Cal standing outside the door while Maven is being held down and fucked disgusted him.

Cal would be furious if he knew, furious with Thomas, assume he had forced himself on him. He may even  _ hurt  _ Thomas!

Or worse, he wouldn't, he would stare in disgust, horrified at his baby brother's wanton face.

He would know how devious and disgusting Maven really is, never be able to look at him the same, with those mislead, golden sun eyes.

Maven didn't realize he was crying until the sob struggled to free itself from his throat. He held it down, worried that it would alert Cal of what was happening.

Thomas's breath quickened, sliding in faster, harder. Maven claws at his arms, trying to get him off.

Cal couldn't know,

"You must have already headed to bed," Cal laughs from the other side of the door, "I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

As Cal's footsteps headed away from the door Thomas let put a low, heavy groan against his neck, sinking in deep and coming.

Maven waits until he pulls off, sitting up between Maven's thighs before moving.

Quick as a bullet, Maven shoots off the ground and kicks Thomas hard in the face.

"What the hell is wrong with you," He growls down at him, going in for a second kick, "That was my  _ brother _ ." Maven has never felt such a need for violence before.

"I know."

"Then why did you continue!" He pulled his leg back for a third kick but Thomas caught his ankle, throwing him off balance and tumbling to the ground.

"Because I could."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert clip of me sobbing in my hospital bed over Maven's death*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maven gets a letter and Thomas is being suspicious...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was shade at the front when Maven was there???? I dont know but he is now.   
> All my chapter titles got messed up in my google doc and I've been very confused. Anyways, this chapter was more fun to write for some reason, but I genuinely don't think it's good.  
> Oh, good news, I'm back home and officially out of the hospital, bad news zoom is my new enemy. I intend to find the creator of zoom and bash their head in. I can't do another damn day of class and it's only the first day!  
> (Btw tags have changed. I took out gang rape because I can't write that, and added voyeurism.)

_ “Never, never tell them. Try and remember that. Never tell anyone anything ever. Never tell anyone anything again.” _

_ ~Ernest Hemingway _

____

"I don't understand," Maven reads the letter again, rapidly searching the impeccable script for answers to questions he doesn't even know, "Why is she coming here? Why now?"

Cal shakes his head slowly, he looks somber and tired, exhausted by the news, and probably annoyed too, "I don't know, Mavey."

When Cal had yanked Maven out of the cafeteria as soon as he laid eyes on him during breakfast he was expecting the worst. He was certain Cal had heard them last night and was going to lecture him on laying with someone at such a young age. He worried he was going to announce that he would be writing a letter to their father about the situation, that it was all over and Thomas would die a painful death as a traitor instead of Maven's lover.

He hadn't anticipated Cal handing him a letter. An elegant letter with a broken navy wax seal. A letter from his mother.

"You always write to her," Cal whispers, "Could you have said anything to unnerve her?"

Maven's blood runs cold with the memories of his last letter to his mother.

_ "He's draining me" _

He hadn't thought about it since the night he sent it. He stopped receiving letter from his mother after it but he had assumed it was because she was busy, being queen and all.

He hadn't even considered she might come to check on him.

He feels warmth flutter in his heart at the idea. So many people think his mother unloving just because she isn't as physically affectionate as some others but this just proves how much she cares about him.

His "cold and unfeeling" mother, worried for him because of a silly letter he wrote so late at night.

"I must have," Maven nods his head sharply, "I am sorry, the battles were getting to me. I remember little of my last letter."

"I just don't want this to distract the soldiers," Cal nods, looking off with a small sigh, seemingly resigning to the notion that nothing could keep a worried Elara from her only son, "It's a big deal when the queen herself shows up with little warning."

"What seems to be the problem, your highnesses?" Cal twists his head barely to stare down the red who appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Thomas holds a pleasant, amiable smile, eyes lowered ever so slightly, every inch a red servant and nothing like the man who had fucked Maven on the floor last night.

Maven's warm feeling twists sharply, unnerved that Thomas has the peace of mind to stand near Cal without a single care in the world.

_ What is he doing here? _

"Ah," Cal nods slightly at Thomas, kinder than most would be to a red interrupting their conversation, but still brushing him off as lower than him, "Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Maven nods along, not willing to risk catching either boy's gaze so he keeps his eyes focused on the floor, his skin crawling at the idea of Thomas, in all his void black beauty, so near his golden brother.

"I see," he bows deeply, a show of submission that shocks Maven, "I apologize for the interruption, but I needed to discuss something with his highness urgently."

Cal shrugs, waving him off without even a glance at either of the boys, "All yours, we were done here anyway."

When Cal disappears back into the mess hall Thomas tugs sharply at Maven's wrist, dropping the submissive facade the second Cal's out of sight. 

"What did you tell him!" He accuses the younger boy, jerking him to a more secluded area. He looks angry, betrayed as he practically swings Maven around.

"What?"

"What did you say to him," Thomas curls his nails into Maven's fragile arm and shoves him harshly against a wall, knocking the breath from his lungs, "Did you tell him about last night?"

"No!"

"Then what were you talking about!"

"My mother!"

He blinks, letting go of Maven's arm and stepping away. Maven sinks to the floor, feeling oddly exhausted. Thomas blinks down at him, empty brown eyes sizing him up.

"Is she dead?"

"What?" He looks up at him, coiling back at the idea, "of course not!"

"Shame," He shoves his hands in his pockets, leaning back on his heels, "What about her?"

Maven decides to ignore the comment on Thomas's feelings about his mother not being dead, for the sake of his own sanity, "She's planning to visit once her schedule clears."

Freezing wouldn't be the right word for what Thomas does, it's not the look of icy fear nor the bland look of passiveness. It's… calculating. He's weighing his options.

Maven wonders if he is aware of how intensely Elara protects him and how much danger that puts the red in.

Surely he knows to at least some degree that her visitation puts their relationship, and more importantly, Thomas' life, in peril.

Still he says nothing, biting his lip and staring at the wall in determined focus.

"It said in her letter that she'll arrive in a few months, a month before my birthday."

Maven coughs, realizing Thomas doesn't actually know his birthday, "Early November."

Maven always liked spending his birthday at home where he belonged, with his mother and his room.

And his own bed, oh how he misses it.

Cal, who's birthday is only about 2 months from Maven's own, spends it here, surrounded by war and death, and probably really drunk soldiers.

_ "The war doesn't stop just because I was born on this day." _

He probably wouldn't say that if his mother was still around.

"Alright," Thomas nods resolutely, "I can work with that."

On days when the battles abate and the war becomes more distant, they train instead of killing.

It's not all that different from training back home, the routine sparring, obstacle courses and Cal being better than him at everything.

Maven rips at the grass beneath him while the healer does her work, taking away the sharp pains of Cal's competence but unable to do anything for his bruised pride.

His eyes and focus shift automatically as the doors to the compound open and out walks Thomas.

Thomas with two other (obvious reds) walking behind him.

He catalogs the two, a man and a woman. The man is talking animatedly, waving his hands about, he recognizing him from occasional passing bys.

Shade, if he remembers correctly. The man is good looking, even Maven has to admit to the sharp spike of attraction the first time he say him (and the equally sharp spike of shame when he realized he was a red.) 

The woman he doesn't recognize, which isn't a total shock seeing as Maven barely knows the faces of his own servants back home. But she's blonde with short cropped hair and tanned skin and he's willing to bet blue eyes.

It chillingly reminds him of his mother.

She has a large scar on her chin, or at least, he thinks it's a scar. It could be a noodle for all he knows, hes really too far to tell.

Maven considers getting up and joining the conversation but whatever they're talking about, it seems important, and secretive.

The healer ghosts her hands over his cheek, easing the painful agony from his broken cheekbone. He sighs at the cool peace seeping from her fingers.

He wonders when the trio became friends? Would he introduce them to Maven some day?

Her fingers travel to his neck, gently pushing down the collar of his turtleneck and smoothly running them along the pale skin and erasing the marks left by Cal.

Honestly, as much as he wants Thomas to have many friends he can't help but feel uneasy at the sight of them chattering so secretly. And his unease doubles when Thomas seeks out Maven and gestures to him.

The two look genuinely shocked by whatever came from his mouth, seeking Maven's presence for affirmation. 

When he locks eyes with them, gently tilting his head Thomas waves kindly.

Maven waves back and the 2 others gawk at the mild exchange.

Maven jerks, roughly pushing the woman away upon realizing what she was actually erasing.

Cal hadn't touched his neck, she was erasing the stinging lovebites left by Thomas and he doesn't appreciate that in the slightest.

The trio is gone when he searches them out again.

Maven eats lunch with Cal and his friends most days, only just barely suffering through Ptolemus' horrible personality in order to seek the comfort of conversation from his brother.

Luckily for Maven, Ptolemus was called away for a family event which just left him and Cal at their table. He sits quietly, listening to his elder brother prattle on and on about battle techniques or how his progress is coming along on that cycle of his.

He always enjoys listening to Cal talk, even if he doesn't understand what he's talking about, the simple sound of Cal's voice and tone helps Maven take his mind off of things. The memories of bloodshed and crumpled bodies don't sting so bad around Cal.

The same occurs with Thomas, but Maven suspects that's due to being too worried about what Thomas could do to him, rather than what Mavens done to others.

Cal prattles on about something regarding stability and balance, but whether that's for fighting or for cycling, Maven couldn't say as his attention shifts across the room.

Thomas is with another group this time, silvers, not reds, not high house silvers, mostly of very low houses or common standing. They're all on the older side of soldiers, in their late 40s to 50s, the type who stayed not because of glory, but because they like the war. 

Those types enjoy taking lives, enjoy watching the molten silver pour from lakelander bodies, enjoy watching life drain from their eyes and agony flash across their faces.

They seem initially apprehensive towards Thomas, eyeing him with suspicion until he leans in to speak to them lowly.

He looks like a messenger, which is a common job for reds, allowed to enter exclusively silver areas in order to deliver letters, messages, or orders, but Thomas isn't a messenger. He was promoted to Maven's personal attendant and thus shouldn't be in this hall.

Still, Thomas talks softly to them, barely moving to perform the usual gesticulating that accompany his all conversations. No shifting of weight from one foot to the other, or graceful positioning of his hands. He's mostly stalk still except for the friendly grin on his face and narrowing eyes.

One of the men clap excitedly, leaning into Thomas' face to share his own output on whatever conversation they were having.

After that Thomas straightens with a proud smile and horrible smug eyes, and replies something. 

Something that makes half the table gasp and the other half turn to look over at Maven and Cal.

Whatever they're talking about, Maven doesn't like it.

"What are you staring at?"

Maven's attention snaps back to his elder brother, startled to find him twisting in his chair to get a look at the object of Maven's attention.

"It's nothing," he assures, "Just spacing out."

Cal twist back around, regarding him with a worried frown, "Alright…" He starts, trailing and looking even more worried, "Just, whatever it is, don't let it get you killed."

He laughs, shrugging off Cal's worries.

Maven is starting to doubt this whole "love" thing is worth it.

Thomas had promised the blindfold would offer a new experience, enhance the sensation.

But apparently there's nothing to be enhanced, he had worked Maven open and now just keeps repositioning him, only giving his cock a few jerks when his interest obviously started to flag.

Maven had convinced himself this was going to be better than last night, and in some ways it was, his brother had yet to almost walk in on them. But at this point they weren't really doing anything to walk in on.

That's not entirely true, Maven would still be thoroughly scandalized if anyone were to see him like this, but it's not quite the same as it had been last night.

Thomas hums lightly and grabs Maven's waist, flipping him onto his stomach. 

He feels like a doll, pretty and posed to his owners whim.

His stomach twists at the idea of Thomas being that owner, its uncomfortable to belong to someone, especially someone with such violent tendencies.

Thomas drags him over the side of the bed, his legs drop off the side of the bed.

He struggles to get up, assuming that's what Thomas wants him to do. He has on hand bracing him into raising when something wet drags against his entrance.

He shrieks, dropping back onto the bed helplessly writhing at the warm wet feeling. Maven flushes in shame at the provocative pose he landed in, his body pressing his cock flat between the mattress and his stomach and his hole on display for Thomas to see.

A feral growl sounds behind him, it's strange and disorienting. It barely even sounds like Thomas and it even sounds disconnected from Thomas himself.

Maven doesn't take long to consider it seeing as Thomas' tongue gouges into his hole, licking in and out.

Maven feels disgusting and dirty, but it also feels good, really good, a sensual warm feeling twitching through his backside.

"Nnnn... Thomas…" He fists the sheets in his hands, attempting to ground himself with the straining of his hands.

He lets out an indignant squeal as the flat of his hand connects sharply to the pale skin of Maven's behind. It leaves behind a stinging sensation that prickles across his skin, painting his skin silvery white. Still, it's all just slightly off, maybe it's because this is only the second time they've done this and Maven's just not used to it, but it feels wrong. Last night Thomas had taken anything he wanted from the younger boy with very little regard to making him feel good, he was quick to get into the action then, now? Now he's spent what feels like hours gently and slowly touching Maven and  _ yeah  _ it feels good, but it also feels wrong. 

Maven had tried to shove the feeling aside but it just wasn't working, every moment that passes fills him with this unknown sense of dread.

He opens his mouth to speak but shuts it at the realization that he wouldn't know what to say anyway.

It doesn't matter anyways because Thomas picks up the pace, fucking him open with his tongue and a few fingers in only a span of minutes.

He writhes against the sheets, making lewd little noises and rocking his hips back to match the thrusts. Warm heat builds and coils in his stomach as Thomas gently coaxes him off the bed and onto the floor where Maven feels more spread out, on display.

"Fuck, Maven," Thomas says, pulling away for a second, "You're really hot."

Maven feels a second of pride, his looks worked in his favor, allowing him to be praised by Thomas, his darling god.

The pride fosters hot into his stomach, sinking out his vision into white hot pleasure.

"Maven," He growls, licking a wet stripe over Maven's ass, "come on, come for me."

His arms give out at the sheer force of his release, he's burning all over, flopped onto a mess on the ground.

Thomas pulls away, allowing Maven to breathe, before hooking Maven into his arms and dropping him onto the bed.

"I'll be right back," He leans down to whisper.

Maven nods, too tired to protest, or question, or even remove the blindfold.

He hears the sound of the door to the hall opening and closing as Thomas takes his leave and allows his mind to drift into a dreamless sleep with a soft smile on his face.

He isn't sure what brought this all on, but he appreciates being loved so thoroughly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is being too nice *squints* what do you think he's doing?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people are fucking terrible, it's Thomas, Thomas is some people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering picking up a new language just so I can write gay fanfiction that makes sense. The amount of times I've had to replace he with a name (or vise versa) is driving me crazy.  
> Warning: this chapter includes rape (as if the others didn't) but more violent near the end. Also it mentions incest, but theres no actual incest.

_ "It's crazy, right? To love someone who's hurt you? It's even crazier to think that someone who hurts you, loves you." _

_ ~Jodi Picoult _

  
  


____

  
  


Maven dips his feet into the cool river, watching the mud and silver swirl away, it was a hard battle, a hard battle they lost.

More silvers died than usual, no one important, all of the high house children were rushed into care the second they were injured in any grave way.

Maven could turn the thoughts into some revolutionary idea about how their lives are no more important than the lives of the hundred or so reds that had been lost in their place.

But that priority first is the reason his older brother is still alive.

Cal was the turning point of the battle, everything had started out so well, they were winning.

But Ptolemus broke formation and left the king to be wide open and vulnerable. 

Maven doesn't know why he moved, only that he did, and in only a split second he was splattered with hot mercury blood and Cal had staggered into him.

Maven broke formation after, catching his older brother and laying his body on the dry, hard, ground.

He suppressed his first instinct to tear the ice spike out of Cals chest and stab it directly into Ptolemus' eye.

A medic was there instantly, easing the cold spike out and replacing it with soft skin that clotted the most dangerous of damage before loading him onto a cot and taking him away from the battle.

With their best fighter gone and their formation ruined it wasn't even a challenge.

"Hey," Thomas settles beside him, covered in the blood of his comrades.

It suits him, in an odd sort of way, as if it shows his true nature.

Maven had been so worried about Cal he hadn't even considered what could have become of Thomas, what he'd feel if Thomas had been lost to him.

The reds had more luck though, fighting entirely different soldiers had come in handy with them. They lost less lives than usual (though still far more than their silver counterparts), and endured much fewer and less fatal injuries.

Thomas had a few scrapes and cuts but nothing serious, nothing nearly fatal.

Maven kicks his feet through the murky water, watching it ripple around the movement.

"I thought burners were supposed to hate water," Thomas notes smugly, watching his legs glimmer wet in the sun.

Strange how such a sunny day could hold such tragedies.

"Are you hurt," Maven shakes his head at this, the only actual response he's given thus far.

"I'd be at the healers if I was."

"That's good," Thomas grabs his thigh, gripping him tightly, "I'd hate for my  _ lover  _ to be too hurt to allow me him."

He ignores all other words, focusing on  _ lover _ . Lover, he's Thomas' lover.

It has the word love in it therefore it must be a good sign.

The two kiss, but it's not quite right. Maven feels tilted and sick.

He doesn't want this.

It's the same as it had been with the general, his touch had sickened him and now so did Thomas'.

Maybe Maven wasn't meant to love? 

He pulls away, turning his head to the ugly brown mushrooms growing around a log, not wanting to look at the red.

"What are you doing?" Thomas snarls, his voice harsh and rigid despite his arms snaking around Maven's torso and nosing his head against his neck.

"I'm not in the mood," Maven whispers, trying to shuck Thomas off, but to no avail.

"I don't remember asking." He says it as unkindly as possible, fingers digging into his ribcage and sitting up, straight against his back, forcing the younger to arch his back against the solid figure, his shirt creeping up, "I've been spoiling you all week and when I ask you for this  _ one thing- _ "

"Let go of me."

Thomas is silent but he can still feel the dark anger radiating from him, toxic and suffocating.

"Fine," Thomas's hand dig into his sides, allowing him to toss him harshly to the side and into the river, "if you want to act like a brat, I'll treat you like one."

"I just said I'm not in the mood!" Maven screeches, though it doesn't have the same punch when he's soaking wet and has about the danger factor of a toddler tripping on their own shoe laces.

"Well I am," Thomas growls.

His face shifts suddenly, leaning back with a soft smile, "you looked really good, all covered in blood and scrapes, nearly human."

Maven has nothing to say, but he wonders what the older boy sees when he looks at Maven on normal days. 

Thomas is glittering in his ferocity, he's beautiful and strong and far too ethereal to really and truly be human. He's something akin to a god or an angel from the stories of before, full of love for his subjects, even ones like Maven. 

Maven only sees a monster when he looks upon himself. Something unkind and evil, far too unloved to be much of anything. 

His path in life is set before, he will watch Cal become king, watch his darling brother continue this long and exhausting war, and he will be there the whole way. Cal will look upon him for all that he doesn't understand.

Maybe that's one of the reasons he loves Thomas so, because he chose Thomas not because of or even to defy his prepaved path, but in spite of it.

Maven got to make a choice and he chose the one his mother would be furious with.

It's nauseating when Thomas lays him on the bank of the river.

"I don't want to," Maven whispers again, he knows his words mean nothing to Thomas now, knows he lost when his vicious look was replaced with such fondness.

"That's alright," Thomas unbuttons his soaking wet pants, "You don't have to want it, you just have to take it."

"What's got you so gloomy?" Cal offers a lopsided smile, the mass of injuries gone from sight but a few tiny scars remained.

"I'm not gloomy," Maven says gloomily.

"No, you're definitely gloomy."

"I'm not  _ gloomy _ ."

"Were you worried?" Cal elbows him in the ribs, far too harshly one might add.

"No," Maven lies, staring out the window.

It's a useless lie, someone had most certainly already told Cal how Maven had so ferociously protected the healer and Cal's wounded body from any attempt at attack.

Ptolemus had probably relayed the story of Maven's attempt at ripping his eyes out.

It wasn't a halfhearted attempt either, Maven was genuinely attempting to brutally blind the man with his fork.

It was his own fault, Maven had made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with the magnetron, and yet, the idiot still insisted on trying to sit beside the young prince at dinner the very same night his insolence almost killed his elder brother.

His horrible sister was the only thing that saved Ptolemus from Maven's vicious madness.

"What have you been up to since I've been out?" 

Cal was only asleep for just under a week, no time at all for the seriousness of his injury. But that was a whole week he missed out on critiquing Maven's every move.

"Practiced my funeral speech," Maven smiles falsely, "How's this, Cal was a great, stinky man-"

"I am not stinky!"

Maven leans over, taking a whiff of Cal's frankly nonexistent body odor, "Stinkier than a skunk that man."

"Oh, shut up!"

The two boys devolve into wretched laughter that hurts Maven's stomach and limits his breath.

"Cal!" Ptolemus rushes over, panting, "I need to talk to you."

"What is it," Cal sobers immediately, laughter fading quick, Maven copies.

"I need to talk to you," he shoots an odd look, of warry and disturbance, "Alone."

Cal stands quickly, apparently much more forgiving of Ptolemus' mistakes than Maven ever would be.

Just as Cal attempts to leave Maven grabs his wrist, he turns around to address him.

"Whatever I did, Ptolemus deserved it."

Cal gives a hearty laugh and follows him out of the hall and into a meeting room.

"What was that about?" Thomas' voice is soft and curious, he slips his arms around Maven in a comfortable hug.

It's been like that recently, softer touches, gentle fingers skimming his arms and soft presses of lips.

Probably to make up for the offensive touches that often follows.

"Probably about me trying to blind him," Thomas stills behind him, hug becoming less warm and more stiff and constricting.

"Didn't know you had so much fight in you," Thomas cooly replies, suddenly more nervous sounding than before.

Maven blinks a couple times.

"Not to you!" He breaks out of Thomas' arms, "I'd never even consider trying to hurt you!"

He holds his outstretched hand, left floating from his quick break, "I love you! I'd let you do anything to me if it made you happy."

He raises a dark eyebrow, "anything, huh?"

"Of course!" He nods furiously, "I love you, Thomas."

Thomas breaks their hands, glancing over Maven a few times, "Good, that's really good."

Thomas makes a request.

_ "Since you love me so much, come with me into town." _

And Maven does love him, oh so much.

It's a strange town, many higher quality, silver, stores at the very entrance closest to the base. And on the edges of town, red stores and homes settle.

He follows Thomas around the town quietly, entering stores first to not look suspicious, and paying for everything.

"I think you should let me dress you up," Thomas says from behind him, eating a small plate of eggs and toast.

Maven leans back against the separation between the booths, wishing he could at least see Thomas right now.

Silvers don't sit and eat with their red servants though.

"If that's what you want."

Maven flicks through the clothes idly, he doesn't much fancy any of the pieces, they aren't as soft and silky as the ones back home.

"I can't decide," Thomas whispers, staring over his shoulder, "should I stick with your colors? Or put you in a new look."

Maven turns around to look at him, "you don't think a dress is new enough?"

Thomas laughs, resting a hand on Maven's hip, "I suppose," He curls himself close, pressing their bodies flat together, "grab the red one," Maven pulls the hanger of the, surprisingly, modest dress off the rack, "and the sparkly one."

Maven reaches for it, but stalls upon actually looking at it.

"What is it?" He presses tighter against Maven's back, "Grab it."

"It's just..." Maven's face heats to white, "It's a bit revealing."

Thomas huffs a heavy laugh, "Baby, that's the point." 

"Twirl," Thomas mimics the motion with his finger.

He twirls, watching the sparkling crystal chains sway around his hips.

They're stunning.

When Maven meets his own eye in the mirror he's embarrassed.

He looks good, soft and sexy… and feminine.

The bralette top imposes the image of cleavage he doesn't have, sparkling with all the same glittering crystals as the fringed bottom.

He turn in it, watching the fringe sweep delicately despite the heavy crystals sewn to it. It reflects light back at him, making him glimmer in the frankly quite dark changing room.

"Fuck, Maven," Thomas smirks, leaning back against the cream colored wall, "come here."

Maven takes only a step before he raises a hand to stop him.

"Crawl."

He hesitates a second, unsure whether he should or not.

But Thomas asked, and really, it's not that big of a deal.

He crawls on his hands and knees, vaguely disgusted by the thought of the dirt and filth probably covering it.

He noses against his leg, settling down gently as to not disturb any of the fringe pieces. The light reflects off his skirt and across his face, Maven considers it softly, enjoying the pretty effect, even if the skirt itself much more gaudy and showy.

"Come on," Thomas squeezes the meat of Maven's ass, pressing the fringe into Maven's soft skin, "suck me off."

Maven's good at this now, Thomas so rarely fucks him anymore, spending his time spreading Maven open with his fingers until it becomes too much and Maven reduces to a quivering cumming mess on his fingers.

Then he'd force Maven to suck him off, enforcing a nightly blowjob.

_ "You gotta keep getting better at that." _

Maven isn't sure he'd qualify blowing Thomas a "life skill" but it keeps his beloved happy. And he finds he doesn't mind it as much as he did before, it starts to become more fun as he figures out how to keep his jaw from aching, or how to tease Thomas the right amount.

He licks a stripe up his already barren cock, locking his bright ocean blue eyes onto Thomas' dark eyes.

He sucks lazily, keeping eyes locked with the red, he doesn't even bother putting the head of Thomas' cock in his mouth, instead mouthing hot against the shaft of it, up and down, never sheathing it inside him.

The cock between his lips is hot and thick, contrasting sharply to Thomas cool leg that presses against Maven's cheek when he lowers his head down the shaft.

Maven lays his head heavy on Thomas's meaty thighs, making sure to shift himself in a more visible position, spreading his legs on either side of himself instead on sitting on them like before.

He hadn't realized before how badly he wanted to be fucked, he misses when Thomas would spend every moment lusting over the silver boy.

This should be progress, Thomas wants to please Maven, but it's not.

It worried Maven when it started because he thought Thomas was up to something. It worries him now because it might mean he isn't, that Thomas just doesn't love him anymore. He's grown bored of younger's body.

Thomas' hair grips his hair tight and painful before practically throwing Maven at the mirror only a small distance away.

"Thomas?" He squeaks, pressing himself into the wall, curling in on himself.

"Stand up."

Maven does so shakily, feeling fire course through his veins and nervous butterflies flutter through him.

He feels more self conscious standing up, his hair surely is a mess and his face flushed white.

A soft knock comes from the outside of the dressing room.

"Is everything all right in there, highness," a soft, worried, feminine, voice calls, "I heard a loud noise."

"Just fine, thank you," Maven schools his voice into the flat boredom of royalty, "I simply fell."

The rustle of fabric indicates a curtsey despite the uselessness of such an act, "of course, your highness."

Thomas continues to look him up and down appreciatively while the sound of the assistant's heels click down the hallway and back into the main section of the store.

"You look lovely," Thomas tilts his head, squinting his eyes into a smirk, "Your  _ highness _ ."

He grabs the pale waist of the younger boy and turns him around to face the mirror.

Maven's hands shoot out to catch himself from pressing his cheek against the cold glass of the mirror.

It's jarring, to see himself be manipulated into position, to see Thomas smile wickedly at the sight. 

Thomas pushes down on his back, bending him over and pushing his hips out.

"Good," he shoots him a shiveringly cold smile, "Now, you're gonna look yourself in the eye while I fuck you senseless," 

He flicks the sharp fringe out of the way and onto the small of Maven's back.

His finger prods at Maven's entrance wet with lubricant.

Maven sulks in the knowledge that Thomas planned ahead enough to bring lubricant.

Maven feels cheapened by it, even though it's ridiculous to feel such.

Logically speaking, it's better that Thomas planned ahead, Maven hardly wants to be fucked dry.

Despite his shyness it was nice to know his body turns Thomas on so much.

He shakes away the thoughts, letting them dribble onto the cool floor. It doesn't matter whether or not this rendezvous was planned, what matters is it pleases Thomas.

Thomas makes quick work of stretching him open with his fingers, it burns a little with the hasty work but it's not unbearable.

Finally, having Maven stretched open and pushing down on his fingers, Thomas replaces the appendages.

Maven bites his tongue hard to keep from letting out a sharp gasp at the intrusion of the solid organ.

Thomas doesn't give him time to adjust before stroking in and out, gaining speed fast.

Maven watches the boy behind him in the mirror, watches the way his face twists into something ugly.

That look was the only warning he got before he started fucking him in earnest, hard and sharp and inching on painful.

He has to look away from Thomas' face as it twists darker and angrier, focusing his attention on his own.

He's a mess, with black hair ruffled and sticking to his forehead in strings of sweat. His eyes are blown wide, blue replaced by dark, lusty, black that swallows his colors and reveals his soul.

He  _ likes  _ this, he's enjoying himself, enjoying being fucked against a mirror, demeaned and dressed up like a little doll.

It's strange to think about, Maven was terrified of love as a child, assumed nothing could make the agony worth it.

And now he'd do anything for Thomas, he bends his knee to the older boy.

"F-fuck," Thomas groans, emptying into the smaller boy, "Shit, that was good."

Maven's eyes lose focus as Thomas reaches around him to jerk him sharply, bringing him to completion.

He sinks to the floor in exhaustion.

The woman at the counter has her head dipped low and her ears tipped white.

"Your highness," she squeaks meekly, holding out her hand to offer the bag containing the two outfits and the receipt of the purchase.

Six hundred crowns for both of the outfits (and a bar of sweet smelling soap Thomas had placed in Maven's hand with no comment.)

Thomas holds the door open for him and he smiles, blushing faintly white.

His bottom aches from the abuse and he expects the walk back to the fort to be a tiring and painful one.

"Six hundred crowns," Thomas awes, "That's a third of the way to a hundred ."

"That is how math works…" Maven turns his head, squinting at the red, "Besides, this was cheap, if you bought this sort of thing back at court it would be well over six thousand crowns and made of real diamonds.

"You just… carried all that around with you."

"Yes?" Maven shakes his head in confusion, "Does that bother you?"

"A little," he scuffs his feet on the dirt path, "I do crazy, suicidal, shit for money, and you carry more than I'll ever have in my lifetime."

Maven stops, stalling along the path, "I'm sorry, I didn't think about that."

Thomas sneers, "don't pity me," he huffs, looking Maven up and down, "I don't want your handouts, Maven, I want your body, and if you don't hurry up, I'll take that right here in the dirt."

Maven walks forward, now white as a cloud.

Six

_ Crack _

A whimper escapes his mouth, forming a pleading spell in the air.

_ Crack  _

Seven

_ Crack  _

Eight

_ Crack _

He claws at the sheets beneath him, holding back a sob.

_ Crack _

The crystal strands click with the movement.

_ Crack _

It stings, like the hot pain of battles

_ Crack _

Ten? Or is this eleven?

_ Crack _

He can't take this anymore.

_ Crack _

"Thomas!" He wracks with a sob, hyperventilating on every breath, "Please! Stop!"

Maven hears the sound of shifting bedsheets but nothing more over the sound of his own sniffling weakness.

"I can't take it, it hurts too much!"

Still nothing.

"Thom-"

_ CRACK _

He screeches, the agony worse than before.

He really should have kept his mouth shut.

_ CRACK _

"Shut the fuck up and take it."

Despite the harsh words Thomas sounds… lackluster, like he's not really enjoying this.

_ CRACK  _

"How many-" Maven hitches on a sob, "How many more?"

"However many I feel like."

_ CRACK _

Maven bites his tongue on the fact that he doesn't seem to feel like any at all.

_ CRACK _

Thomas must have decided he was sick of this painful pastime because he pulls Maven off the bed and onto his knees on the floor.

The position stings at his bottom, but it's far more bearable than the assault from Thomas' hand was. 

A warm hand rubs appreciatively on his stinging white cheeks, accompanied with a deep hum full of baritone and arousal.

It's odd sounding to Maven's ears, he's never heard Thomas' voice become so deep.

The hand presses a finger on his hole, playing at the clenched skin in rough, dry, movements.

He lets out a breathy moan, he's warm with arousal stirring in his gut.

A little pain sparks with his touch, the remnants from earlier abuse.

Before Maven knows what's happening he's being pushed on his hands and feet.

Thomas is being awfully quiet, usually he'd be whispering derogatory comments at him.

He lowers his torso on the ground, wishing he could see what Thomas was doing to him.

The finger continues to rub against his entrance.

It grates at Maven's patience, he wants it, wants it really bad.

"Thomas," Maven whines, wiggling his butt for added brattyness, "please fuck me?"

That same baritone moan follows, and soon after it the touch of a cock against his hole.

A cock against his unprepared, unlubricated hole.

Maven will admit he often is clueless about sex, never knowing what Thomas is doing to him, but he knows that will hurt.

"No," Thomas says, sounding distant and less baritone, "blow job."

There's a sound of metal clicking, coins almost, strange and out of place in the bedroom that was filled with Maven's sobs only a few minutes ago.

"Blowjob."

Maven takes the hint, moving himself around to open his mouth near where he presumes Thomas's cock is.

He searches for it blindly before it hits his cheek, smearing precome on him.

"Whore," Thomas growls.

Maven takes this as sign of encouragement. His insults tend to hit far less hard when Maven is too busy coming to care about the fact that he's on his knees half the time he spends alone with Thomas.

He licks at it messily, like an overenthusiastic kid with a lollipop. 

When he pulls it into his mouth, it feels different, less heavy, less filling.

It's a little disappointing, but he knows it's only different because Thomas so actively denied fucking him.

Thomas' voice deepens again when he starts blowing with fervor.

_ "Fuck!" _ He growls, grabbing at Maven's hair and pounding into his face,  _ "You like that? Huh, you fucking whore, taking my cock." _

Maven blinks under the blindfold, unnerved by the sudden shift.

_ "Stuck up bitch, walking around all prissy and proper despite how you crave to be fucked all day, laid out on any flat surface and stuffed full of fat cocks." _

He twists a little, the insults are far too cruel for him to handle. He feels 13 again, spread out beneath the older general, at the mercy of a merciless man.

Though, he supposes he never categorized Thomas as exactly "merciful" in the first place.

_ "Oh I'd fuck you in front of everyone if I could, spread out on one of the lunch tables, fuck, I'd give anyone who wants one a turn." _

Maven's breath hitches despite the cock in his mouth, he doesn't want that. He doesn't want anyone other than Thomas to touch him.

And even then he doesn't even want  _ Thomas _ to touch him right now.

_ "Yeah, you'd learn your place then."  _ He groans loudly, face fucking Maven harder, if that's possible, _ "Maybe even Tiberias would fuck you." _

Tiberias? Cal? His brother Cal? Since when does Thomas call him Tiberias.

_ "You'd fucking like that wouldn't you,"  _ Maven shakes his head as best he can but the grip on his hair only tightens,  _ "Yeah you fucking would, you're a whore, you'd want his cock, want to be covered in his cum." _

_ "Want to be fucked by your own brother, filled up by him, you'd come on his come wouldn't ya?" _

_ "Ohhhh, that pretty face twisted all sorts of up, you'd try and fight it in the beginning but he'd have everyone hold you down so he can fuck you." _

Maven starts to sway a bit, lightheaded from the lack of air and horrible suggestions. There's some other sound but they sound distant and unimportant compared to the cruel insults hurled at him.

_ "Wouldn't take much to get you to comply, Just a few rounds before you realized all you were meant for is that, being sat on cock, regardless of relationship." _

Maven's vision begins to edge on black as air becomes a desperation.

_ "Yeah, after I blow my load on your face I'll fuck you up the ass, open the door incase anyone else wants a turn. Pass you around on each cock till you make them cum and they won't stop, everyone in all of Norta will get a chance with that hole." _

_ "Oh you'll look pretty on my cock, I hope you start to cry again. Oh that was good, did you hear yourself? 'Oh please stop, it hurts too much,' that was the point you stupid bitch. Wanted to watch you shiver with sobs, can't wait to see you at lunch tomorrow, unable to sit comfortably because you got what you deserv-" _

His words cut off and the warm cum lands on Maven's face and over his blindfold, but he doesn't notice as he collapses to the floor, vision black.

When he wakes up he can see, the room is dark but Thomas sits next to him, gently stroking his chest in a comforting motion.

"Did that go too far?" He sounds normal again, not even a stray hint of arousal, "I didn't mean for it to go that far, I'll stop it next time."

Maven blinks, still off kilter, "Do you really think Cal would rape me?"

Thomas blinks back at him, "No. Why, were you worried?"

Maven considers it.

"No, I-"

He doesn't know what to say, he's disgusted? He's confused? He's angry?

He's not really anything. Nothing is running through his veins but tepid water.

"It was just… really weird."

"Yeah, I was trying something new, didn't really work out."

"You," Maven thinks back on the things he said, trying to make any of it make more sense to him, "You called Cal, Tiberias, why?"

Thomas stares at him, shock as visible as the northern star on a clear night.

"You thought that was-?" He sighs loudly, relaxing into the mattress, "That makes all this so much easier."

Maven doesn't ask what, because Thomas never tells him anything anyways.

He glances about the room, it's still his, but subtlety different.

It's a wreck, Maven's clothes are strewn everywhere, water is trailed all over the floor and to the bed, and a wet rag sits frumpy on the end table and next to a coin bag.

He examines the bag, it's a nicer one, holding more than a few crowns, looks heavy with coins.

When he extends his hand out to grab it, Thomas snatches it first.

"This is mine," he gestures, "I'll be right back."

He briskly exits the room, slamming the door behind him.

Maven's left, feeling cold and displaced. His bracelet is nowhere to be seen, thrown off sometime before getting spanked, and he feels wrong. 

He wants to talk to Cal. Confide in him.

Maven knows he cut that string, knows he never confides in Cal anymore, but Cal has always embodied a safe haven for Maven. Someone who would never do anything he knows would hurt Maven.

He pulls a pen and paper out of his letter drawer, unsure what else to do.

_ Dear Cal, _

_ I'm writing this letter to tell you all the things I want to tell you but can't. _

_ I got really scared when you almost died, don't do that again. I almost tore Ptolemus open for leaving you vulnerable like that. _

It's a crudely written letter, no fancy words or poetic sentences, a run down of everything that immediately comes to Maven's mind. 

It makes him feel a lot better.

He folds it into an envelope and seals it before shoving it in his writing drawer.

He doesn't write anything on it, doesn't even bother to sign it.

He just writes the date and "for Cal".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually, like, pretty long, but I really enjoyed writing the first half. I know my writing isn't top tier or anything special but I did enjoy writing this chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors, the warnings of what's yet to come, and Thomas is more shit than we expected, find out what happens next in this episode of, "Angie and her bastard fingers put an innocent child through hell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...

_ “I need you to know: I hated that I needed more than this from him. There is nothing more humiliating to me than my own desires. Nothing that makes me hate myself more than being burdensome and less than self-sufficient.” _

_ ~ CJ Hauser _

____

  
  


Maven presses the ink against the paper, unsure of what to write. The white lettering paper much too daunting for such an empty day.

He's in that state again, the one where he's not sure what he's feeling. He doesn't know how one would classify this hazy sort of emotion, stuck in the in between, never being peaceful, never being anxious, never being. 

He doesn't want to vent, nothing is poking hard at his heart right now, and he doesn't want to  _ not  _ vent either.

Everything is carrying on like it always has, the blood still runs through the mud like smoke curling in swirled patterns.

He wants to write, feel the peace of pouring his heart out to Cal despite never getting the courage to truly share them.

He's empty, white noise buzzing in his veins, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, to feel something so crushing and so agonizing he can never breathe again.

As usual, Cal, his savior, his brother, comes to the rescue, appearing beside him like an apparition, a ghost of a man who died.

He also happens to look like he's seen one too, his eyes flitting around the cold room, searching for something in Maven's bedroom 

"Maven."

He says it with a determination, stoic but somehow dripping with dread and anxiety for whatever conversation was yet to come.

It's the type of voice that makes Maven feel like a cornered animal, panicked and ready to flee the second an opportunity is presented.

Cal hadn't even bothered to knock, he'd let himself in without alerting Maven of the potential conversation. He'd let himself in quietly, and took place standing beside Maven all unnoticed.

It grates at his nerves that he's been so spacey and off that Cal managed to slip in totally unnoticed.

"We need to…" He hesitates, glancing at the closed door behind him in a show of nerves, "Talk…"

Maven doesn't offer a response to that, knowing Cal would speak without worry of Maven's comfort with this  _ talk.  _

He sighs, sifting a hand through his short cropped hair before sitting beside Maven in an extra chair, sinking low and defeated.

"There have been rumors circulating," he sets a hand out on the desk, close to the white void of paper, "about you."

"About… me?" He thinks of all the things he's done, most of them with Thomas, and wonders which one got him caught. Which one Cal was about to admit to knowing about his baby brother, which dirty secret would taint Cal's soft impression of him.

Cal sets a strong hand on his shoulder, looking him deeply in the eyes.

_ "Maybe even Tiberias would fuck you." _

He's ashamed of himself that he even thought of that.

He's more ashamed of himself that it forces him to flinch so harshly from the comfortable warmth of Cal's hand. As if the sharp words of a disgusting boy’s fantasy had overwritten the memories he and Cal had so many of. Cal would never lay a hand on him like that.

He blinks at his little brother for a few seconds before sighing.

"I don't think they're true, I can't imagine you doing something so…"

" _ Promiscuous _ ."

Maven wishes he could dream so he could pretend this was an awful nightmare.

He can't lie to his candle in the dark, not when Cal came all this way to check on him, set himself down, and braced himself to question Maven.

"What do they say?" It's meek and reeks of a guilty conscience, if Maven were in court the judge would declare guilty on that alone. 

Cal breathes deep, looking out the window in front of the writing desk.

"They say you're," He pauses as if unable to even say the words aloud, "Ptolemus has been hearing rumors that you're-"

He lets out a sharp sigh.

"No, nevermind," Cal shakes his head sharply, "I can't go assuming things based on rumors from another person."

He stands, Maven doesn't know what to say, he wants to open up, to tell Cal all about how he's feeling.

But he won't offer that freely, he can't admit to such sinful behavior if Cal doesn't already know or suspect.

He reaches his arm out to catch Cal before he leaves, not really content with having the man say such strange things and then leave.

He grazes the sleeve of Cal's uniform, but it goes unnoticed.

"I'm sorry," Cal turns slightly, to speak so softly over his shoulder, hand on the door, "for even considering such horrible rumors."

Cal leaves.

Maven turns back to the blank sheet, staring at it once more and writes, with swirling handwriting he masters for his letters to Elara.

_ Dear Cal, _

_ You told me today you were hearing rumors of my bawdy deeds, but I need you to know, I love him, and I've learned to overcome that fear of pain that comes with love. _

_ I love him, and I don't fear the pain, but I don't crave it either. _

_ His appeal wanes when he puts his hands on me, I think I hated him after our first kiss. It was violent, everything with him is violent. The way he attacked me left me bruised in both bodily and ego. _

_ I ached for my flame maker, I ached to watch the skin melt off his fragile bones as he burned. _

_ But then he holds me like I'm the world, touches me and teaches me like I'm the only one he could ever want. Sometimes, he kisses me and it's soft like falling into a pile of clouds, sweet like caramel, and kind. _

_ Do you remember when we were but children? I loved you dearly, my older brother, protector of all and future king of Norta.  _

_ I miss those days, the days where I was allowed to love you too. _

_ Sometimes, in the minutes between my thoughts, I think of the stuffed bear I threw with all my tiny might out that window, I wonder where it has gone, does it still lay there amongst the white roses drenched in the silver blood from my self inflicted agony?  _

_ Pain wasn't worth love then, to me it was better to rip my beating heart from my ribcage than face the agony of loving you. _

_ I don't know what that says about me, that I had to rip myself open to let you go, but I'm not dumb enough to think its good. _

_ I think it's easier to love Thomas because I know I can't hurt him, despite my status, despite my blood, despite my ability, he holds me down, makes me feel like a temperamental child. _

_ Is this what love is supposed to feel like, should every single touch, every graze of fingertips feel like he's violating me? _

Maven scratches at his neck, phantom kisses marked into his skin. They burn and itch and it feels like everyone can see them, that Thomas' violent love is all anyone can see when they look towards the fire boy.

Everyone is staring at him, the conversation around him overwhelming his senses, his head pounds and his body aches.

They all know.

Cal had said there were rumors, and most people would be able to push this off as unfounded, oddly correct, suspicions.

But Maven knows better than most how troublesome rumors can turn out to be.

He pulls a smile to his face, not too bright, and pushes his thoughts aside for idle, meaningless, thoughts.

Samson bows low, blonde hair still with his stiff movement.

_ Like a puppeteered corpse. _

If Samson noticed the thought, he ignored it.

"Cousin," he brings himself back up, "I've come to check on you."

"Have you?" He rolls his eyes, "Under whose request?"

The memories of Cal's anxiety ridden questioning from earlier this morning ring in his head, not loud enough to alert the whisper, Samson isn't as talented as his other Merandus relatives, he can’t rip into the inner thoughts of his head, can’t see or hear the images of his memories like mother can.

He specializes in body control, possibly more skilled in that than any of his other relatives. Lacking as his thought manipulation is, it’s at least good enough to give a grim smile at his hazy compliment.

“The queen has sent me.”

Cold blood runs through his veins like ice floating down a river in the midst of winter.

“Has she?” Maven crosses his arms in what he hopes looks like a casual motion rather than an attempt to warm his blood and protect his heart, “What for?”

“She will be arriving tomorrow at thirteen hundred hours, she wants you to be there to greet her.”

“I will be,” he accentuated with a sharp nod at the blonde and his phantom claws that dig into his head and dig for soft bits.

“That's all cousin," He bows low again before turning away, taking his claw hands with him.

Tomorrow, less than twenty-four hours, and Elara will be there. 

Maven pulls himself together, a deep breath in, a deep breath out.

It feels too real now.

What is he supposed to do with Thomas? 

Elara wouldn't stand for her son having an amorous affair with anyone, let alone a red, let alone a man.

And the rumors, people suspect, he hasn't been careful enough, it's already had too big of consequence.

But Elara is also his mother, surely she cares if he finds himself too enamoured by the red to stand with their forceful parting.

He considers a classic ending, happy daggers that set the lovers free of their opposing worlds.

Thomas would never stand for such, Maven has no doubt Thomas loves him, but he doubts the older allows that love to go above his self preservation.

_ There's no point in worrying about it, we'll burn that bridge when we get to it. _

"H-hello."

The way the red stutters makes him upset. He's tall and lanky, with a shaved head bowed low in shame and nerves.

He seems to be far older than that of the young prince, but no older than late 20s. 

Maven glares at him over the rim of his warm tea cup, the wind blows gently and the air is tinged with the chill of the incoming autumnal season.

"Who sent you?" He offhands, annoyed to be called during his break between meetings.

He seems to panic at the question, breathing in shorter breaths and darting his eyes anywhere except Maven's own face.

"I was hoping to-" he stops, checking around the empty field, "hire you?"

He says it with such an unsure waver that Maven almost wonders if this guy even knows who he's talking to.

"I think you're in the wrong place," he sets the tea down and uncrosses his legs from their pretzel formation, "I'm not for hire."

The red nodded sharply, face twisting into molten horror, poised to start sprinting away the moment he was dismissed.

It pains Maven to be the cause of such unease and he'd hate to drag out this torment any longer but… he needed to know.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Maven sends him a charming smile, he was always good at getting information out of people, putting them at ease and making them spill their secrets into his hands as they choke on their actions. 

Cal always said it was his soft face, lingering remnants of youth mixed with the sharpening of maturity. The kind of face that had people staring, expecting kindness and soft smiles. 

Like their secrets are held sweetly in his embrace, secure, instead of tossed away to his mother at any possible moment.

"Nothing, Your highness," He bows low, respectfully, "May I take my leave now?"

He dismisses him with the wave of his hand.

He pretends not to watch as the red scurries away to the entrance of the building, engaging in stilted, formal, conversation with one silver haired bastard.

He takes a long sip of the warm tea, boiling it on his own tongue to feel the way it ripples.

Ptolemus settles beside him, nonchalantly picking up Maven's book.

" _ Notes From the Underground _ , Huh?" Ptolemus nods, as if he's ever even looked at a book before this very moment, "Good choice."

Ptolemus reads aloud getting all the inflections wrong, less like an emotional moment of coming to terms with suffering and more like a mad man rambling away to anyone stupid enough to hesitate in his presence.

"I extinguished myself and shot myself through the heart but never never have I ceased to love that one and even on the night I parted from him I loved him perhaps more poignantly than ever we can truly love only with suffering and through suffe-"

"What do you think I'm selling?" 

Ptolemus snaps his jaw shut mid word.

The breeze is cutting for a sharp moment, all soft kindness gone at the unexplained presence of the magnetron.

"Excuse me?" He fakes, twisting his pale features into a mockery of innocence, his fingers clutching tightly to the old book.

Maven waves off the act, it was bad enough Ptolemus is audacious enough to conspire against him, but to think he'd fall for such an obvious ploy?

"The red that was just over here," He leans back, allowing the cold winds to chill his rising temper, "You couldn't possibly think me so stupid as to not recognize him as  _ your personal attendant. _ "

"I didn't see any red over here," he sets the book aside, slamming it shut on the ground, losing Maven's page number.

"Really?" He humors, cocking an eyebrow at the steel boy.

"Really." 

"Hm," He stretches with a fluid motion, playing on ease despite the crushing anxiety weighing in his stomach, "So that wasn't you at the door talking to the attendant?"

Ptolemus falls silent.

"That's what I thought."

"Why ask when you already know?" He crosses his arms petulantly, knowing he's been caught.

"What do you think I'm selling, Ptolemus." 

"Nothing-"

"What am I selling, Ptolemus."

"You're the one selling it, why are yo-'

"What. Am. I. Selling. Ptolemus."

He falls silent again, temper flaring behind his steel eyes.

"Cal said he was going to talk to you about this but he chickened out." 

"He's not the only one, it seems."

Ptolemus scoffed, "He isn't the one who nearly got his de-eyed by you, you psycho."

He rolls his eyes at the title, but feels a little accomplished that he managed to scare the magnetron with his little display.

Funny that his weapon of choice was metal, and Ptolemus still feared.

"There are rumors circulating," he looks desperate for an item he can regain the nonchalant attitude of earlier with, "about you."

"Yes, yes, I've heard this part, skip to the part where you either tell me or you flee in guilt at entertaining  _ rumors. _ "

He wouldn't usually discredit rumors so easily, some people have a tendency to be right, and even if they aren't, they can still be used.

"They say you're selling yourself."

"Selling myself?" Maven scrunches his nose, "Selling myself to what."

Ptolemus takes a deep breath, "Older men?"

Maven isn't aware that he even picked up the book before it hits the magnetron square in the face, the corner of the solid cover landing directly on his nose.

" _ Fuck _ ," Ptolemus curses, grabbing at his nose dripping with sparkling silver.

"So, you're not only accusing me of being a whore-" Maven lunges forward, consumed by that anger again. That feeling when Cal was laying near dead on the ground, the feeling when the general who touched him was dead at his feet, the feeling when Thomas said all those cruel things about Cal, "But also of being a whore for  _ money? _ "

"You think me desperate enough I'd  _ sell my body?! _ "

His flames burn in his blood, heating him with rage. 

_ “Your body was made to be touched by people like me, men like me.” _

He wants to harm, to mar and watch blood flow into the ground.

_ “Your body means nothing,” _

Ptolemus falls back into the ground below as Maven chases his falling body. His arms alight with raging blazes, casting a warm orange glow onto the otherwise monochrome man on the ground.

His body is caught as he swings forward to burn, he's pulled away by a man far stronger and far more skilled than he.

"Mavey!" He yells into Maven's ear, it barely registers as he watches Ptolemus scurry to his feet, Maven continues to kick and scream, lashing out with his flames in erratic motions that always flicker out just before touching their target. He flickers the flames on again and again as they are tampered by outside forces. 

He feels his body clench with the beginnings of sobbing as it all presses him into exhaustion.

"Mavey please calm down!"

They think he's a whore, someone who hands themself off to old men to be toyed with, treated like an object, and tossed aside.

And he can't deny it, he can't say that's not what's happening because he knows it is.

He ignored it, all of it.

The blindfolds.

The way Thomas touches him on those nights, what he tricked himself into believing was him taking enjoyment in Maven's pleasure was him showing him off.

The strange pockets of money Thomas acquires post sex.

The men hes been talking to lately, older, silver men.

The spanking.

The cruel words.

_ Tiberias  _ and not Cal.

The baritone voice.

_ Colors… _

The baritone voice, the baritone voice that said such cruel things, the baritone voice that face fucked him, the baritone voice that  _ wasn't Thomas. _

"Shhhh," Cal whispers, petting him softly, keeping him held tight against his chest despite Maven having already collapsed to his knees.

_ On his knees again. _

"You're okay," He feels Cal nuzzle at his curly locks of hair, his breathing slows from its hyperventilating pace.

What does he do now?

Can he do anything at all?

He loves Thomas.

But does Thomas love him?

Is this love? Selling someone you desire to disgusting men? Allowing them to violate him? All without him even knowing who is touching him? Who is watching him?

How many people have gotten off to the view of him twitching against the sheets, breathing heavy and opened around Thomas's fingers.

Were they always Thomas's? How many people have been inside him? 

Maven screams, he screams because he can't bring tears to fall from his eyes, screams because he doesn't want this, screams because it hurts, it hurts, it  _ HURTS. _

He should have stuck to his guns, love is too much, too painful, too much, too much.

He doesn't even have the strength to be angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say for myself


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories drown you and me both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've come to a conclusion. I'm never writing anything even hesitantly sad after this. Never, not gonna happen. In fact, I'm chopping my hands off as soon as I finish this damn story.  
> In other words, I cried writing this.

_ In the garden, _

_ I will die. _

_ In the roses _

_ they will kill me. _

_ I was going, mother, _

_ to pick roses, _

_ to find death. _

_ -Anonymous _

____

It's the dreaming that gives it away.

He doesn't dream; he falls asleep into a void like slumber and awakens as not even seconds have passed. 

He doesn't dream.

_ I twirl, smiling shyly at the boy sitting on the bed. _

_ Thomas has been extra kind since the previous night's incident. _

**We'll get back to that.**

_ His touches are softer, he kisses me more often; when I woke up he told me he loved me and held me close. _

_ I know its only temporary, I know enough to know the cruel actions always come back with a vengeance, I know enough to know that no matter what kindness is something he only ever uses to cover up the bruises he leaves in his wake. _

_ "You're beautiful." _

_ This temporary kindness makes all the bruising worth it, it eases my broken ego and makes me feel safe, makes me warm. _

_ I never used to feel this way. _

_ Even finding myself in Cal's brotherly affections often left me feeling cold and overshadowed, the second prince, acutely aware of his elder brother's virtues and lacking in any of his own. _

_ I push Cal from my mind, Thomas' suggestions still too fresh and still too capable of ruining his good mood. _

_ Thomas wraps his arms around me, leaking cold, but comfortable enough. _

_ "My beautiful lover," he nuzzles my neck, warm breath puffing against my pale skin. _

_ "Skin white like moonlight," his fingers graze lovingly over my thighs, "positively glowing." _

_ "Flirt," I roll my eyes in mock annoyance, reveling in his attention. _

_ I like it when he's gentle, when he's kind. It helps fill in the cracks he leaves in his wake. _

_ He kisses my ear, warm and gentle and no sign of teeth in sight. _

_ Why can't it always be like this? _

_ The red sequins reflect light over my skin, dancing light spots across my fragile body. _

_ "My lover," he kisses in the weak spot behind my ear, making my body rush in anticipation. _

_ Lover, not whore or slut, lover. _

_ His fingers dance over my stomach, scratching at the crimson fabric covering me from view. _

_ "Thomas," I whimper, bringing my arm backwards to wrap around his neck, twisting to reach his lips, "I love you." _

_ Please dont watch this. _

_ "Maven," he murmurs into my mouth, his lips grazing with every word. _

_ He kisses me, taking my lips in a soft dance that feels like golden sunlight. _

_ It feels like being worshipped, like every touch is full of adoration and kindness. _

_ I, the second prince, feel like a king. _

_ His fingers wander softly, tracing my body downward, tracing my hips and thighs. _

_ When his cold fingers finally make contact with my exposed skin I shiver in anticipation. _

_ What will he do now? Will he hike up the sequined dress and ram me into a wall? Will he kiss me again? _

_ "Tell me you love me?" Its a shameful thing to ask a red boy. _

**A red.**

_ I ignore my pit of shame focusing in on his brown eyes, the eyes that are usually so void but look warm and open today. _

_ "I love you, Maven." _

_ I twist myself in his arms, curling into his embrace, opening myself to his warmth. _

_ I kiss him fiercely, pressing my front against his. _

_ This is all I've ever wanted, to be touched so softly. _

_ It's dizzying, feels so close to drowning in the golden warmth coursing through my body in waves. _

_ "I love you," he whispers against my lips, I let out a sweet moan, allowing him to walk me backwards, like a graceful waltz, the two of us so entirely in sync. _

_ "I love you," he whispers as he picks me up and settles me on the mattress still warm with freshly washed sheets. _

_ "I love you," he says as his hands roam my body, drinking in the way the sunlight pours across me, bathing me in yellow warmth. _

_ I've always thought moonlight and cold lighting was where I belong but I've never felt more comfortable than lying there, spread out in the mid day sun for Thomas's viewing pleasure. _

_ He pushes the skirt up my body, hiking it out of the way to allow him better access to me. _

_ He kisses at my thighs, lavishing me in warm, adoring attention. _

_ "I love you," he murmurs against my inner thighs, nibbling it with the softest teasing pressure. _

_ He opens me slowly, murmuring such kindness across my lips, distracting me from feeling anything that isn't warm butterflies. _

_ He pushes in and out, as if there was never even a hint of malice in his bones, slow and attentive, whispering again and again. _

_ "I love you, I love you." _

_ I wrap my arms around his neck, wracking my body with sobs, moaning and panting at every touch every stroke. _

_ "I love you too," I sob against his lips, shuddering with climax. _

When he wakes up she doesn't say anything and he doesn't off the first words either.

It's silent, cold and unloving, the way her embrace always was.

"Maven."

She doesn't say anything after, leaving his name to hang in the air

He doesn't respond, doesn't meet her eyes because he knows that when he does everything will feel too real.

Everything comes to an end eventually.

"Maven," she lays her cold hand on his shoulder, too real, too solid for him to delude himself into saying is a nightmare, "What have you done?"

"Mother," he whimpers, feeling the remnants of Thomas' touch fade away from his body, "don't take him from me, please…"

A beg, a pointless, pathetic, beg.

"No," she pets his hair, fingers carding close to his scalp and pulling the tangles apart gently, "this can't continue."

Everything about her screams comfort, but also danger.

He can't give in, as much as he wants to give out, drop into her arms and pour every memory he has into her hands for her to pat away he can't. 

Elara has never cared much to think of reds a people, let alone worthy of her son's body.

"I must say, you gave me quite a scare, my son," Maven looks up finally, meeting her eyes with apologetic written all over his face, "to get such an odd letter, and then when I come to check on you I'm told you're asleep."

"You've always let your emotions overwhelm your common sense," she sigh, looking exhausted, "honestly, starting a fight with the future head of the Samos family  _ twice _ ? What were you thinking?"

When Maven says nothing she finds out herself.

It all moves too fast, the memories too emotional and too chaotic to cement in his mind properly leaving them difficult to pull from the cabinet of his memories.

It's too much.

Their first meeting.

Their first kiss.

The first time Maven said I love you.

The first time Thomas said I love you.

Their first time sleeping together.

All of it, overlapping, the soft and the painful, obvious on his mother's vision.

Maven has to gasp for breath when she lets him go, pulls out of his mind sharply, jagged and leaving a splitting headache in her wake.

"Maven…" 

He's never heard his mother so distraught before, horrified by his memories, disgusted by her precious son. 

The son she worked so hard to mold, undone by a red in a matter of months.

Maven can tell what she thinks of him, he can tell how angry she is he's been so disobedient, can tell how disgusted she is he let someone so small and insignificant take power over him.

But she doesn't understand how much they love each other. She chose power over love, she couldn't possibly comprehend how heart broken Maven would be if he lost Thomas. 

"Mother," he whispers, broken open and bleeding all over the crisp white sheets, "Mother, I love him."

"Maven," she whispers again, reaching her hand out to his shoulder, "That's not love."

"That's fear."

He jolts away.

She doesn't understand, how can she? She doesn't love, she doesn't know how important this is to him.

"Maven, he doesn't love you," she whispers into his ear, and despite her obvious absence from his mind he can feel the words bouncing off the walls of his skull, fracturing him from inside out.

When she reaches to hug him he rips away, twisting himself off the bed and bolting out the door.

He feels her fingers graze his arm as he bolts from her, reaching out with her hands instead of her mind.

He runs, even when he can't breath, he runs, even when it hurts, he runs because if he stops he'll break down.

Someone grabs his upper arm, holding steadily onto him even when Maven slams into his chest with such force it knocks out the little breath the boy had left.

"Woah there," He looks down at him, warm brown eyes, "where's the danger?"

Maven drops like a stone, falling into his arms and tugging at the air for any semblance of oxygen.

"Mavey?" Cal drops with him, allowing the younger brother to collapse into his lap like a child.

Cal can't dig through his mind and extract the truth from his lips, he's safe.

He won't know so he won't say something so cruel.

"Mavey, what's wrong?"

_ He doesn't love you. _

Maven wants to open his mouth, to scream and cry and ask Cal if Thomas loves him. He wants to ask what love is all over again, if Thomas' violations could count as anything.

He can't help the doubt seeping into his blood, setting his heart on fire as his lungs fail him.

Cal doesn't say anything, simply keeping his warm hands secured on Maven's head, a pressure to remind him he's there, Cal is there and he's willing to listen, to hear.

_ I love you, I love you, I love you. _

Maven grasps harder at the stiff fabric of Cal's uniform, sturdy and strong like his elder brother.

It only serves to remind Maven that he's making a scene, if anyone lingers in the training field they can see Maven falling apart.

He opens his mouth to tell Cal everything, but stops.

_ He doesn't love you. _

What if Cal says the same thing?

_ He doesn't love you. _

What if Maven returns to the unloved prince, cold and evil.

_ He doesn't love you. _

He can't go back to that, it's too dark, the monsters are going to get him.

He can't manage more than a few choked off sobs.

The sky mocks him, pouring down tears he can't bring to his eyes, trailing down his face to give the illusion of a human being.

Cal pulls away, sighing at the gloomy weather.

Rain has never been kind to either of them.

"I have to go grab my bag, stay right here okay?" Cal begs, unfurling Maven from around his waist, pulling the younger up along with him until they're both standing, Cal tall and still as he always is and Maven limp, swaying with the threat of a too strong wind knocking him over.

If that were to happen he wouldn't even bother to get up.

"We can go back inside, dry off," Cal pats at Maven's head, "I'm sure I can find some hot chocolate and you can cry to your heart's content."

If Maven could cry the entire country would be flooded before his heart finds contentment.

Maven doesn't offer a response and Cal just sighs, turning around to jog off.

Maven moves without thinking, abandoning the promise of comfort Cal had handed him for some mindless movements, leading him somewhere.

When his mind clicks back in place he's at the river bank again.

The one where he sat when Cal was hurt.

The one where Thomas took him when Maven so clearly begged him not to.

The one where Thomas sits now, looking entirely too pleased with the weather.

"If I could control the weather it would always rain," he offers in lieu of a greeting.

"I hate the rain," Maven offers back, watching as the red stands up, stretching towards the sky.

"I know," he smiles over his shoulder, finally looking at the prince in his eyes, "That's the point."

Maven ignores it, chooses not to think about the implications.

"I had a dream," Maven mutters feeling the water pour down on his face, "about us."

"I thought you didn't dream."

"I don't," Maven clarifies, "Not naturally anyways, and they aren't really dreams.

They're memories. When Mother wants to know something and I'm not awake to tell her she pulls them out in the form of a dream."

He smiles with another memory coming to mind.

"When I was 10 Cal dared me to slide down the banister, it was a triple dog dare, so I did. I cracked my head open and nearly killed myself doing it, I didn't wake up for days, even with the healer. 

But I dreamed, memories of Cal daring me, memories of climbing onto the banister, memories of sliding halfway down and then slipping off and plummeting to the marble ground head first."

"So, Elara knows about us now?"

Maven nods, once, sharply like a razor slicing through skin.

"I guess that's fine, I'm leaving in an hour anyway."

"Leaving?" He steps back, his barefoot gushing in the mud.

Why didn't he notice he wasn't wearing shoes earlier?

"Mhm," He steps close to the glass prince, "don't play naive, I heard about your meltdown, you've figured it out."

"Some of it," he admits, looking anywhere but the red, "I hadn't figured out why until now though."

"It was fun while it lasted," Thomas growls, flicking his eyes up and down the boy, "I'll regret it couldn't have lasted longer, the things I could have gotten you to do."

He glances away as Thomas' fingers trail around his waist and pulls them closer. 

He shouldn't have come.

His clothes are soaked and every place Thomas touches him makes it stick to his skin like glue.

"Reminds me of our first kiss," Thomas murmurs against his ear, "You looked so delectable, defenseless and vulnerable."

Maven pulls out of his grasp.

"Thomas," he whispers, so quiet he worries the red can't hear him over the sound of the rain, "please don't go. I can work something out, we can stay together."

"Don't leave me…"

Thomas snorts, mood shifting quickly.

"We had our fun, I'm ready for something new."

It stings at his heart, piercing his veins, poisoning him.

_ Our fun. _

"Fun?" Maven steps back, pain shooting through his intestines as the heartache, "Is that all this was?"

He tilts his head at the prince, eyes so dark they seem black.

It heats Maven's blood.

How dare he pretend to not understand. He knows what he did, what he said.

_ I love you, I love you. _

_ He doesn't love you. _

"I thought you loved me?"

"Love?" Thomas laughs sharply, mockingly, "You think i  _ loved  _ you? Are you stupid?"

He grabs Maven's wrists in a sharp violence, ripping the flame maker from his wrist and tossing it far off into the river with a  _ plop _ .

Fear singes Maven's fingertips and he aches for fire, something to defend his body from the boy's cruel fingers.

"I never  _ loved  _ you, I hate you," he rips at Maven's shirt, popping the buttons open with the force of it.

Maven fights back, pushing his hands away with a shriek, "Stop it! Don't touch me!"

Thomas ignores him.

"Every time I fucked you all I could think about was wrapping my hands around your neck, choking you to death while I pound inside you."

"You don't mean that-"

"I do!" He rips off the pristine black shirt with a vengeance, his face twisted and dark when Maven finally braces himself to meet it, "I always came thinking about you ripped open, dripping silver everywhere."

"It wasn't hard to imagine when you're so fucking cold it feels like fucking a corpse half the time."

Maven sense irony, Thomas, who is made of ice and snow, yelling at him for being cold.

"And don't get me started on the other half! Every time you'd actually actually moan and enjoy it your body heat raises to 3rd degree inducing!"

"Shut up!" Maven screams desperately, fending off Thomas' attempts to strip him.

Those monsters from his childhood strike his mind, dark ink and sharp glass.

Dark eyes and sharp teeth.

It loves him like Thomas loves him.

And apparently he doesn't love him.

"Oh what, are you going to cry?" He growls, snapping the pants button open.

"I never let them fuck you open, always worried you'd get suspicious too quickly but it turns out I should have, seeing how fucking stupid you are."

"Stop!"

"I  _ sold  _ you, handed you off to old men to be ogled and made you suck them off and you come to me asking if I  _ loved _ you."

"Stop it!

_ I love you, I love you. _

Thomas  _ has  _ to love him, if he doesn't it all was for nought. Every touch, every kiss, every word a lie.

"I'm using the money to get myself out of here, I'm using your whore funds to buy myself a new life in some other country far away from you and that horrible family of yours."

"Shut up!" 

No, no, no, don't say that.

_ He doesn't love you. _

Elara always knows, Mother is always right.

Maven swings a punch, landing square in the jaw.

And just like that, Thomas' temper breaks and all his words become true.

He screams when Thomas grabs him by the hair, knocking him over and dragging him across the muddy ground.

He kicks, trying to wrench himself free from the tight grasp but it's too harsh on his scalp.

"Let  _ GO OF ME! _ "

Thomas doesn't dignify the screamed command with a response, it leaves Maven feeling cold.

It can't be true, the way Thomas touched him, in those fleeting, soft, moments, he can't have hated him.

_ He can't have hated him. _

Maven hits the water with a jolt, his head cracking hard on a hard rock, still and strong in the rushing river.

"Please!" Maven sobs, his breath catching in short little hiccups, "please stop."

Maven can't tell the difference between the water and blood dripping from his head as he scurries in an attempt to right himself. It all sways and spins, like a lady during a waltz, disorienting.

Thomas' hand feels like cinder blocks when they push Maven back into the water pushing him down under the rushing water.

Maven wants to scream but everytime he opens his mouth water rushes in and Thomas isn't letting him up.

He tries to force his way to the surface as Thomas undoes his own pants but it's proving futile.

The water's current is too strong, Thomas is holding him too firmly.

He shouldn't have come here, he shouldn't have come here.

Thomas is going to kill him.

He's going to die here.

He stops struggling, it's futile.

He's going to die.

_ "Once there was a princess trapped in a castle, guarded by an evil dragon!" _

_ "Can I be the dragon." _

_ "No Mavey, you're the princess, remember?" _

_ "I don't wanna be the princess." _

Maven isn't sure entirely what sparks the memory, but he lets it play as his lungs burn with the effort of not breathing. Of trapping the water outside his lips in an effort to live another day.

_ "Well who is going to be the princess?" Cal groans, as if Maven is the only viable option available. _

_ Maven flicks his eyes over to Evangeline who is focusing too hard on bending a small piece of metal to pay him any mind. And then he flicks his eyes to the red woman watching over them, set there just to make sure they don't break anything too expensive in the large sitting room. _

_ "Anyone but me?" _

_ "Just be the princess Mavey." _

_ Maven glares from his spot on the floor as Cal rushes over and pulls the 'princess dress' over his head. _

_ He sighs, fisting the fine silk in his small hands, noting how pale he looks in comparison to the vibrant gold. _

_ It was the previous queen's dress, Cal's mother's dress. _

_ Maven doesn't know much about her, most evidence of her existence is wiped clean from the palace halls. He's never even seen a photo of her. _

_ He imagines she looks something like Cal, but a woman. _

_ Black hair, warm brown eyes, and tan skin. _

_ Wait, but Maven has black hair too. _

_ Maybe she's blonde? Mother is blonde, so she must be too. _

_ Okay, so blonde with brown eyes and tan skin. _

_ Sure, that's good enough. _

_ It doesn't really matter what she looked like, she's dead now. _

_ He shrugs, feeling the oversized silk slip down his shoulder, exposing Maven's house colors beneath it. _

_ "Very pretty," Eve snickers. _

_ "Focus on your stupid metal!" Maven snips back, suddenly very embarrassed. _

_ "Why do I gotta be the stupid princess…" _

_ Cal ignores his dissatisfied mumbling to turn his eyes on Evangeline. _

_ "Okay Evie-" _

_ "Absolutely not." _

_ "What?" Cal puts a comical frown on his face, "Won't you play with us?" _

_ "Not if you call me Evie." _

_ Maven rolls his eyes, that's never worked when he tries it, so it definitely won't work for- _

_ "Finnneeeee." _

_ Of course it works for her. _

_ "Evangeline, will you be our dragon?" _

_ "What!" Maven screeches, "I have to be the princess but Evangeline gets to be the dragon?" _

_ Cal looks at him with genuine worry and concern dripping from his face. _

_ "Mavey…" He whimpers, "Evangeline would never let herself be captured. She'd beat up the dragon and leave, and I don't want you to get beat up." _

_ It's a blow to his pride. _

_ A serious blow. _

_ Wounded by Cal's lack of faith in him he concedes, groaning as he flops over like a fish. _

_ "Fantastic," She says, crawling around Maven like some weird lizard creature growling at Cal. _

_ "Return the princess, foul beast!" Cal shouts, holding up a letter opener as if it were a sword. _

_ "Oh. Please save me." Maven deadpans, staring up at the ceiling  _

_ "Roar!" Evangeline yells. _

_ Out of the corner of his eye he sees the red woman barely holding back her laugh, positively vibrating with humour. _

_ Okay so it's a little funny. _

_ Maven starts vibrating too, her laughter becoming contagious until it hurts to hold back. _

_ His laughter echoes on the cold marble flooring and off the walls. Cal and Evangeline look at him shocked for a few seconds. _

_ "What's so funny, Mavey?" Cal tilts his head, picturesque curiosity. _

_ "R-r" Maven snorts, unable to form the word, "Roar!" He shrieks, tangling himself further into the rich silk. _

_ It takes a few seconds, but soon the other two devolve into the same laughter, collapsing to the floor in giggles and when the laughter began to die out someone would mutter roar and it would start back up again. _

Their laughter peals through his head as he opens his mouth, letting instinct overcome his preservation, and takes a deep breath, filling the lungs that once held such carefree laughter with suffocating water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HI! I really need you to know I'm so incredibly sorry.  
> Warnings (you'll need them):  
> Graphic description of gore  
> Mothers are traumatic  
> Incredible denial, I mean, truly delusional   
> POV switch, I know that drives some people crazy but this chapter and the last (next) one require it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for adding quotes at the beginning of the chapter actually came from this chapter's quote! This was one of the first plot points I had planned out and while it changed direction a bit (a lot) I still find it worked :)

_ "I am coming _

_ for all the monsters that ever touched him, _

_ I am coming _

_ for all the ones who twisted his stars into shadows, _

_ They turned him into a nightmare, _

_ So I’m going to be theirs." _

_ \- AND THEY’LL NEVER WAKE UP _

_____

  
  


____Cal____

_ They say you can't remember things from when you were an infant, too young for that part of the brain to register your surroundings, to categorize events in your brain to retrieve later, but he does. _

_ He remembers his mother's hazy features, her brown hair laying limp and dull around her face; casting harsh shadows across her skin. _

_ He remembers not crying when she set him in the bassinet, he was silent, placid. _

_ It would mark the last time she held him. _

_ He remembers her soft, empty smile as she turned away from him, abandoning her newborn son for the sharp blade in her hand. _

_ But mostly, he remembers the way she raised it above her head, staring him dead in the eyes. _

_ Her arms shook and tears pooled from her eyes, effort building to keep her arms up, too afraid to move. _

_ He looked up at her, and giggles. _

_ His mother, his loving, doting mother, dropped to her knees at the sound of his laughter. _

_ "My baby, my precious Cal." _

_ He can't recall the sound of her voice, it so often blends with his step mother's that he stopped trying to listen, ignoring the fact he's forgotten her voice. _

_ "I'm so sorry." _

_ He watched with wide eyes as she stared at the floor and buried the blade into her neck, slicing it open and pouring silver everywhere. _

_ He remembers being silent, as if afraid to alert her that he's still there, afraid to remind her what she just tried to do. _

_ He remembers repeating the memory to his father in his stricken terror from it replaying again and again every night when he closed his eyes  _

_ "I think she wanted to kill me." _

_ His father threw his glass of amber poison at his son, shattering it in his drunken haze. _

_ "Don't EVER say something like that about her again, got it?!" _

_ He nodded, unsure what else to do, and walked away. _

_ Cal wasn't allowed to meet Mavey for almost a month after he was born, Elara had been worried he'd hurt his baby brother. _

_ But when Cal did meet him, he cried. _

_ Mavey had that same fragile heart his mother did, too easily distraught by little things.  _

_ He'd scream his head off if you even considered leaving him, never wanted to be put down, never wanting to be picked up. _

_ Elara and Cal's tension only doubled when Mavey was born.  _

_ Mavey loved Cal, would squeal with joy when he'd contort his face in odd ways. _

_ He'd carry him around whenever he could, cradling the small bundle from one area to the next. _

_ The queen hated it, she didn't want the two boys to have anything to do with one another and would become furious whenever she'd catch Cal holding him. _

_ "He'll drop him!" She'd screech in that totally controlled, very queenly way she often does.  _

_ The way that is so not screechy most people don't even notice she cares at all. _

_ "He won't drop her,' His father slurs, making Cal's nose squish. _

_ Elara seems to have had the same reaction, "Him. Maven is a boy." _

_ "Cal won't drop  _ **_him_ ** _ ," he repeated, annoyed. _

_ Cal shifted the bundle in his arms, ignoring the way it munched on his hair, unaware of anything else in the world.  _

_ His father was right, Cal wouldn't ever drop his fragile baby brother.  _

_ Maven had frequent nightmares when he was older, he'd flee to Cal's room and hide in his bed, cowering from the remnants of sleep and the monsters in his head. _

_ Cal didn't mind the company, he had nightmares too. _

_ He'd find himself waking nightly to check for the blue eyed boy wiggling around beside him restlessly. And often found himself incapable of sleeping at all when his constant movement and unsteady breath were absent from his nights. _

_ And when Maven was there and would start to shiver in fear Cal would "miraculously" find himself twisting around in his sleep to cradle the younger boy in his arms. _

_ Maybe he knew Cal would stay awake,listening until his younger brother's breath evened and sleep covered him. _

_ When Cal was preparing to head off to the front his memory of his mother's death repeated in his head again and again. _

_ It was always when Maven was around, the blue eyes empty and smile dimmed. _

_ Maven never said anything about it, would often exit conversations when talk flowed to that of Cal's oncoming absence. _

_ Cal didn't say anything to him about it either.  _

_ Maven saw him off, lingering beside their father with a heavy weight on his shoulders. _

_ When he tried pull Maven into his arms, to say goodbye, Maven stepped back, offering a noncommittal pat on the shoulder and turned back to the exit of the station. _

_ He came back during fall for his birthday, it was a nightmare. _

_ Maven wouldn't talk to him at all, everytime Cal would try he'd get up and exit the room as if he didn't exist. As if the crown prince was a ghost haunting his own country. _

_ Maven hid away in the library most days, curled into a corner reading large books with far too complex ideas for Cal to bother trying to grasp. Politics and trade and everything about the high houses he could get his hands on. _

_ Cal would watch quietly, hoping all his days as a soldier allowed his feet to fall quiet enough to not alert his baby brother of his newfound stalker. _

_ He wanted to know why Maven wouldn't talk with him, why had he pulled away so fiercely in the span of a few months? _

_ He watched and watched, begging for answers. _

_ They never came. _

Maven isn't there when he returns, isn't anywhere in sight.

He regrets not asking, knows he should have pressed his baby brother to confide in him.

He looked so distraught, choking on every breath in what sounded like sobbing but lacked the required tears to solidify the idea.

His fingers clutching his big brother's shirt like it's the only thing left in this dreadful world.

He doesn't know what to do with the empty space, the rain washed away all evidence of the smaller boy. The force of the raindrops act like bullets, removing people from sight.

The indents of Maven's footprints are barely visible, could easily enough be a trick of the eyes.

Cal follows them, because he knows he can't go inside, soaking wet and sans his trainwreck little brother.

It's always been like this, they've filled these roles since they were but children, stumbling around on unstable legs.

Maven would fall, crumbling and crying out for his big brother and Cal would chase on after, picking up the pieces and gluing him back together. 

And Cal will keep this trend because it frightens him so fully to think there might be a day Maven falls apart so fully that his pieces can't be put together.

Rather than shards of glass he'd be glass dust. 

He follows because he can't lose his baby brother. 

He can't let his baby brother follow Coriane to that edge of the blade.

The rain pours like it's spilling blood.

He walks with terror ringing in every step the closer the tracks get to the river.

What will be at the end of this path?

What if he finds himself at the mushy mud, watching the river's forceful current and no one stands beside him.

What if he stands there to find remnants of his little brother but nothing more?

What if Maven isn't there?

What if he failed his baby brother just as he failed his mother.

He pushes the worries aside, what ifs have never done anything for him before and they won't start now.

The mud becomes stickier and the ground littered with smooth pebbles worn down by the water when he hears it.

"Let  _ GO OF ME! _ "

It's Maven, a desperate shriek in his voice that causes Cal to break out into a run.

He loses a shoe to the sticky mud but that's okay, the burning heat from his foot help evaporate some of the water in the ground which gives him more traction.

He loses direction a couple times, stumbling onto the wrong paths that scrape at the sole of his foot and tangle with the fabric of his clothes, but he runs.

He runs and runs until he finds himself standing at the bank of the river and doesn't see Maven.

Or, at least, he's hoping he doesn't see Maven.

Surely his Mavey, his baby brother, isn't the boy lying beneath the river's current, having a man rip the clothes off his body.

Why isn't he moving.

Why isn't he moving?!

Cal runs forward as the man begins to pick at his little brother's undergarments.

No, can't be Mavey. Can't be.

He's not moving, he's not fighting back.

When Cal raises his fist to swing the man gives out a startled gasp, his fingers stalling over Mavey's glass skin.

He punches him, hard, knocking the man over into the water.

The man is smaller than him, weaker, and apparently slower as he tries to flee.

Cal catches him, grabbing his hair and bashing his head into the rock, again and again and again.

The water begins to bleed red and it angers Cal further.

Again.

A filthy red put his hands on his baby brother, had the audacity to overpower the small tiny baby Cal cradled in his arms so many years ago.

Again.

Again.

_ Again _ .

____Maven____

Maven coughs, water spilling from his lungs streaming onto the rock and back into the river, mixing along it's way with streams of color, so vibrant it hurts his eyes.

Red.

So much red.

He follows the ribbons with his eyes, tracing them back to their source.

Back to Thomas

His lover, his most darling, his Thomas lay so near him, with his head cracked open, spilling pieces of squishy brain and skull and blood over the rock.

His eyes are open, a picture of shock and horror etched forever into his resting features.

Maven feels a scream stick in his throat, begging to let him wail to his heart's content.

He's seen so many dead bodies in war, but they've never been him, they've never been Thomas.

How? How could this have happened?

Who took Thomas from him? How could they? Thomas  _ loved  _ him!

He can't be dead, he can't be.

Colors.

Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.

"Mavey!" Cal sobs, grabbing him and cradling the cracking boy in his arms.

His intense warmth brings Maven back to reality, forces his eyes away from his lover's corpse.

Cal is covered in blood. Sticky, staining, guilty, red blood covering his face, his shirt, his hands.

Cal.

Cal, his golden brother, the one who held him so gently murdered Thomas.

He crushed his lover, smashed open his head.

No. No no no no no.

Please, no!

"I'm so glad you're okay," Cal sobs, spilling hot tears onto Maven's bare chest.

How dare he cry tears when Maven can't.

He feels cold, empty.

He stares and stares and stares at crimson spilling down Cal's face.

He feels so cold.

"I lost my flamemaker."

Cal lets out a strangled, short, laugh.

"We'll get a new one, don't worry," he begins to choke on tears again as Maven listens, stunned, "don't worry, Mavey, I'll fix everything. I won't drop you."

He ignores the strange words in favor of the cold void opening up beneath him.

He takes all of his feelings and shoves them in there, for safe keeping.

To never have to see again.

And he wishes he could send his memories with them.

After Cal finishes sobbing into his arms he collects Maven's clothes, making extra effort to kick Thomas' body further into the river and out of sight.

Maven stares and wonders briefly in Thomas will float down the river, be found by someone who couldn't possibly identify him.

Will he be given a proper funeral? Buried and forgotten.

Maven shoves his soaking clothes on with no words, no comments.

Cal doesn't ask, he doesn't offer.

Despite the rain it feels too silent, like the sound of his clothing sticking to his skin is causing avalanches in his head, too loud for such an utterly silent existence.

Everything is too still and at the same time, too fast.

The river and the rain pour, sounding like hurricanes and steep waterfalls.

Thomas doesn't move, he never will again.

Cal doesn't move, unsure what to do with his hands now that he's clumsily rinsed them of their rose petals.

Maven doesn't move.

"Let's go," Cal barely whispers, sounding so faint and so loud in Maven's ears, "You need to shower."

Maven doesn't point out that he's not the only one.

They walk back in silence.

It's like the compound is abandoned, brief flits of life and existence but no people. Faint, deadly noises ring in his ears. 

A distant, so incredibly distant, sound of music pouring out of a cheap radio, staticky and painful, sending shocks through the prince like sharp lighting 

_ Thomas twirls him as the music pours from the radio, spilling across the floorboards of their shared space. _

_ It was earlier into their relationship, after their first time. _

_ Maven doesn't mind too much that he was dressed up like Thomas' personal mannequin, he does however mind that the older boy had no fashion sense and just chose to stick him into pants that are too tight and a shirt halfway unbuttoned. _

_ As uncomfortable as the clothes may be, he swings along with the slow beat of the music, enjoying the steady rhythm. _

_ Maven's always liked dancing, he's graceful and soft, fluttering around the room like a butterfly. _

_ Thomas spins him back into his arms, wrapping his arms around his body securely. _

_ Maven nuzzles his neck, twisting to gain access to his cold skin. _

_ The sunset casts gold in the room, softening everything to fuzzy, warm, static. _

_ Somehow he always felt warm like this,  _

He shivers, the water soaked clothes cooling to set his skin covered in goosebumps.

He's cold, freezing even.

Cal holds the wooden door open for him, ushering the smaller boy into his bedroom and away from any possible prying eyes.

Or prying minds.

His room is neat but lived in, flitting with life over every cracked drawer and picture frame.

A black sock sits lonely in the corner, missing its pair.

He looks away from it, his stomach churning uncomfortably.

Cal takes off his muddy shoes and sets them right next to the door and Maven copies.

Their bare feet pad through the room ricocheting off the walls and back into his skull.

It's too loud, everything is too loud.

"There's a towel in the bathroom," Cal barely manages a whisper, "I'm going to go shower in the communal showers, I'll be back soon."

Maven steps into the bathroom, not managing to turn and meet his brother's eye.

"Don't…" He sighs dejectedly, "Don't disappear again."

Cal leaves him there, not waiting for a response.

Maven slinks across the tile, leaning to turn on the hot water.

_ "It's like you're trying to boil me alive!" _ Thomas' voice mimics, as if he were beside him.

He turns off the hot water, and switches on the cold.

It's like ice against his skin, but it's better than  _ that. _

_ "It's not your shower anyways!" Maven snipped, more so to be difficult than any actual anger. _

_ Thomas laughed, a chuckle, warm and deep, that sent shockwaves through the younger boy. His nerve endings alight with the noise, he smiled up at the other. _

_ "What's yours is mine, my prince." _

_ "And what's yours," Maven poked his chest, "is mine?" _

_ Thomas chuckled, groping harshly at Maven and pulled him into the stream of hot water. _

_ "Don't be stupid," Thomas leaned in against his mouth, so full of those sharp edges and dripping that familiar malice that poisons all of Maven's memories of him, "What's yours is mine and what's mine is mine." _

_ "Then what's mine?" He whispered back, feeling the anxiety rise in his throat. _

_ "What do you want to be yours?" _

_ He stopped, stilling himself to mull it over in his head, feigning ignorance to an answer that repeated in his head again and again and again. _

_ "Your heart," he whispered, slipping closer, bare chest to bare chest. _

_ Thomas 'hmphs', obviously displeased with the answer. _

_ "Fine," Thomas snorts, "You have my heart," he begins to mouth at his neck intimately, "And I have your body." _

Icy water spills down his face, pouring from the faucet and washing away blood and memories with it.

He's going to have to see healer after getting out, his head aches with clear signs of a possible concussion.

For now he doesn't, he stares as the water tracks down his arms, washing away the remains of Thomas' touch.

He shuts off the water quickly, not wanting to lose those pieces of him.

It's one thing to wash away the marks and have them return with every night spent with the red boy.

But if he washes them away, they'll never return.

Thomas is gone.

He stumbles out of the shower, reaching clumsily for the towel hanging nearby but misses, feeling it slip past his fingertips as he drops to the floor, drenching the cold tile in even colder water.

He's dead.

He gasps for air, trying so desperately to breathe, to fill his lungs, in and out.

_ He doesn't love you. _

He can't breathe, he's drowning again.

_ I don't love you _

Of course he does! Of course he loves him.

_ I hate you. _

He was lying, or Maven misheard, or… or…

_ I  _ **_hate_ ** _ you. _

That can't be true, no.

No.

No.

No!

He's choking again, sobbing without tears and it hurts, his eyes beg for the blessing of tears to pour down his face, but nothing comes.

His eyes are dry while his body aches and screams, burning, turning to ash.

"I got you," Cal holds him tight, keeping his body from splitting into a million pieces, "I won't let anyone touch you, Mavey."

That's the problem.

"How long has this been going on?" Cal whispers, dragging his hand along Maven's arm.

He feels like a child, dressed up in his big brother's clothes.

_ "Look Cally! I look like you!" _

He longs to be scooped up again, carefree and held tight.

But that's not an option anymore.

Cal saw, in that moment, when he was dripping water all over the floor, he saw.

Maven holds himself back from dragging his finger along the marks.

Along his collarbone, his chest, his thighs.

The memories of Thomas' biting and bruising show so clearly on his body, aching in shades of grey on his paper white skin.

"Mavey," Cal whispers, quiet, as if any volume of his voice would shatter him, would leave him tumbling like an avalanche, "Mavey, what did he do to you?"

All those touches burn, his bites and bruises ache with ice and frost and Maven wants to scream and cry and break down, to tell Cal everything.

Everything Thomas did to him, everything anyone ever did to him.

He shakes his head, letting all those cruel memories to bounce around, all those things he did to him.

Shame builds and boils in his bones.

Thomas is dead, and here he is, living and breathing and wanting nothing more than to throw a tantrum and complain about a dead man.

A dead man who loved him.

_ I hate you. _

Even if he lied, he still loved him. He loved Maven, he did, he really did.

Thomas loved Maven.

But, of he loved him, why was he going to leave? To leave him. Leave him behind. 

Cal pulls back, tugging every inch of possible confession with him.

Maven just has to hold out, hold together.

Soon, it would take too long, Cal will give up, it will be too late and it will be easier to hold his screaming thoughts behind his lips.

He screws his eyes shut, nausea building in his stomach like a tidal wave.

He loves Maven.

He didn't love Maven.

Colors, how he aches for a daisy, full of petals.

But only the right amount of petals.

Six petals. He wants a daisy with six petals. 

_ He loves me. _

_ He loves me not. _

_ He loves me _

_ He loves me not. _

_ He loves me _

_ He loves me n- _

Okay, so the daisy only had five petals, he miscounted before.

Silly him.

Thomas loved him.

He wasn't going to leave him behind, it was a joke, a cruel joke to make Maven squirm, to test him, his loyalty.

He was going to take him along. Thomas wouldn't leave him behind.

Thomas  _ loved _ him.

It soothes his nausea a tiny bit, allowing himself to open his eyes to more than tilt and vomit.

He sees straight as his breath slows and his nerves calm.

Thomas loved him, it wasn't for naught, Thomas was ruthless and cruel because he loved Maven above all else. 

He was going to take Maven far away from this place.

He was going to take Maven.

"Maven, please," Cal begs.

Honestly, Maven forgot he was here at all.

All those past tense verbs scratch at his skin, filling him with anger and furious hatred.

Thomas  _ was _ , Thomas  _ loved _ , Thomas  _ died _ .

And Cal killed him.

Maven could have been free.

"Talk to me."

Maven could have been happy.

"Tell me what he did to you."

Maven could have been loved, wanted, needed.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Maven mutters, disguising his anger with complacency, "It's over now."

He stands, heading for the door.

"Mavey!" Cal begs, "I only want to help, let me help."

Maven leaves.

It doesn't matter.

It's over now. 

The worst part is, it isn't over.

Elara is still there, looking all queen, all solid.

Only Maven would notice the odd twitch of her fingers, the immediate press of brain to brain.

**_Come. Now._ **

He's in trouble, Elara is mad.

He follows because there was never a real alternative when his mother commanded.

He walks on his own accord, not needing the puppeteering strings she'd tie into his bones and blood when he threw a tantrum as a child.

But he doesn't comply when she reaches for his memories.

Not completely anyways.

He holds the harshest ones to his chest.

And the softest ones.

He shows her Thomas' dead body, his shock, but nothing else.

She doesn't need to know what Maven knows.

She'd tell him his love is false, she'd lie and say Thomas hated him just like he said.

He can't stand lies, despite so often living them.

He does show her his mounting rage, the anger pointing needles at Cal. 

She's pleased with that.

Of course she would be.

"Maven," she sighs, carding her fingers through his hair as he lie in her lap, "You needn't hide your heart from me."

Maven blinks.

"I know you don't truly feel so little, speak to me in honesty, my son."

"I'd never judge you for your heart."

"You just want to help?" Maven mutters, bitter as the dirt.

"No," Elara laughs, "There's nothing to help with."

"He's already dead," her eyes glint sharp and malicious as she says the words, her white lips curling around the words, tasting them, lavishing them.

He breaks.

There's something so comforting about someone who only wants to use him.

Familiar.

He pours every thought, every moment, every touch, every scream, every moan into her lap, ignoring the the impending shame at revealing such whorish behavior to his own mother.

He shoves it aside for the moment.

Both of the river memories, side by side.

Drawn in the same breath, same thought, same blood.

An assault.

A loving one.

A confession.

A guilty one.

A realization.

A painful one.

He screams, burying his face into her dress to muffle them the best he could.

But the blood, the red trickle into the river's current is to vibrant.

He vomits.

Elara pretends not to notice, she doesn't cringe at the thick bile pooling in her lap as he coughs and chokes for air.

"I can pin back those memories, I can suppress everything he did to you."

"You can be yourself again," she pets him.

"Myself?" He mutters, anger pooling again.

But at who? At his mother? At Cal? At Thomas?

"Yes."

"Mother!" He shrieks, whipping his head up to meet her eyes in a head on stare, "There's no  _ "self" _ , there's  _ nothing _ left of me! He  _ sold  _ it!"

He wants to scream because it hurts.

He loved Thomas, Thomas who loved him.

But that doesn't matter anymore.

Because Thomas is dead, Thomas is dead and gone and he took every last piece of Maven with him, he handed it out for cash he didn't use, an escape he didn't travel.

Thomas loved him.

But there's no him anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is an epilogue which briefly touches on Maven's feelings towards Mare as well as Maven and Cal's farewell scene (though with a few different spins, no real Marecal, and instead of having nightmares, Cal lives a nightmare.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tfw you shouldn't have snooped, smh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dont love this chapter but there's only so much I'm capable of and writing well in Mr. Wonder bread's POV isn't one of them.  
> I'm sorry this chapter came out so late, it's almost 7k words so it took me a while, and writing it overlapped with my destiel breakdown lmao.

_"Are you familiar with the story of the three little pigs? It's not a story the wolf would tell you."_

_~PhilK_

_____________

"Calore," Farley offers, not particularly kindly, but not as unkindly as she often is, "We found this on Mav- We found this."

Cal grabs the paper, ignoring how she stumbles over his name.

Does she not want to say it because of what he did to her, to them, to everyone?

Or is it because she's talking to Cal, and _he's_ dead.

It was a decision he had to make twice, and he knows he wouldn't have been able to without all the support from Nanabel and Julian.

He just wonders if it was the right one. 

He looks at the paper, expecting a taunt, an escape plan, perhaps even a long description of Mare.

It's just a few words, stained with silver blood and red blood alike.

_Dear Cal,_

_Stay out of my room, being dead doesn't give you permission to snoop._

_-Maven_

Cal stares at the words.

What?

Cal wasn't going to go anywhere near his room, let alone snoop in it.

But he'll admit, he's incredibly tempted.

They already cleaned out the king's room but nothing of any real importance was found.

"His old bedroom hasn't been cleaned out yet, if you want to go take a look," Farley offers, handing him off the key to his little brother's room.

Cal stares at it, the cold iron marking him with indecision.

Should he respect his brother's dying wish and have everything removed and sorted by people who don't know him.

Or does he check, look and see if killing him was the right thing to do?

"Is that from Maven?" 

Cal twists towards the voice.

Mare is tired looking, scratchy and still lingering in the abuse Maven put her through.

But she's alive.

He tramps down the bitter feeling that rises in his throat.

He knows it's not her fault.

He knows he's the one who failed Maven.

He knows she had no obligation to him.

He knows this.

"Yeah," he hands it over, seeing her try to peek at the words subtlety, "his dying wishes."

She snorts, grabbing it with little care for preservation.

He stamps down those feelings again, longing for a sledgehammer to pound them six feet under.

"So," She raises an eyebrow at him, dark eyes burning him so hot he has to look away.

It's always been like that with Mare, the guilt that coats his insides with thick anguish.

At first, she was promised to his brother.

Then, she was a reminder of his betrayal.

And now, she's a reminder of his death.

"Are you going to snoop?"

He thinks about it, weighing it on his moral scale but before it could finish calculating, movement catches his eye.

Mare drags a hand over her collarbone, over the mark Maven left her.

"Yes," he decides, clenching his fist.

He'll snoop because he knows he made the right choice, nothing Maven could have gone through could justify the horrors he put others through.

Yes, he decides, because nothing could _ever_ justify Maven standing there, doing nothing while Cal was puppeteered into murdering his last remaining parent.

Yes, he decides, because he's angry. He wants something to hold against the dead boy, to think about with a smugness, knowing he knows something shameful about that cruel boy.

Yes, he decides.

"I'll help out," Mare offhands, handing the paper back to him, "could be closure."

Cal knows she's lying.

They're doing this for the same reason.

The room feels colder than it used to.

It's empty of life, everything tucked away neatly and all personal touches removed from his move to the king's suit.

Mare enters the room like it's nothing, she's never been in here before, it doesn't hold the memories it does for Cal.

But Cal…

Cal can see that little boy, wearing his big brother's flame maker, shaking his wrist furiously to make it click, to make it spark.

Cal can see the dance of flames as Maven tries to manipulate the fire into dancing around the room like a beautiful waltz.

Cal can see Maven hiding under the bed during hide and seek.

Cal can see Mavey crying into his pillow.

Cal can see Mavey scream when Cal startled him.

Cal can see Mavey laugh.

Cal can see Mavey smile.

Cal can see Mavey.

He nausea burns in his stomach, rolling and dancing with the touch of panic.

He hasn't even stepped into the room and it's too much.

He shouldn't have come, he should have handed the key off to one of the cleaners, had them bag it all up and set it aflame.

"I was expecting more… white?"

Cal drags his eyes back to Mare, who happens to already be touching his dark nightstand and turning on the lamp.

It's already been a week and it's like he's still there, ready to walk out of the walk in closet and yell at Cal for invading his room.

"We don't have to search," Mare says, finally noticing the panic clawing at his body, "We can have someone else take care of his stuff."

He looks around the room, then at her, then back at the room.

"No," he steps in, crossing the barrier with his head high and his fists clenched, "I have to know."

Standing beside Mare he looks around.

"Where do we start?"

He hums softly, analyzing the room for anything out of place.

Despite the more recent events Cal is still fairly sure he knows enough of his little brother's habits to know where he'd hide things he doesn't want Cal to see.

"Check the nightstands and desk drawers, I'll look in the walk in."

Mare nods stiffly and Cal leaves her side.

He hears the tell tale sign of jangling drawers as Mare rips the nightstand open behind him.

Cal throws open the walk in, but it's mostly empty.

"How hidden are we talking here?"

"I doubt he ripped up floorboards or anything," Cal calls back, grabbing one of the rich red boxes lining the upper shelves.

Empty.

"It has to be obvious enough he actually worried about us finding it, and no one ever sifted through his drawers so it isn't unlikely he kept something in there."

Cal hauls the next one down.

This one is wrapped in black paper, topped off with a neat bow and a small card.

"Woah, I think this got way too real for me," Mare deadpans, obviously not actually distraught, "I found a pen. I bet he's so embarrassed."

Cal snorts but doesn't turn his attention away from the box.

This could be it.

He flips the card open, reading it.

_"Happy Birthday Cal, you're getting so old I'm worried I should prepare for your funeral! -Maven."_

It itches his bones, Maven stopped talking to him like that years ago, all of his birthday presents since the front are smoothly wrapped and bowed with little more than a name to identify it as Cal's.

He pulls it apart, opening it as quickly as possible.

This could be it, this could be it.

It isn't.

It's a set of tools, wrenches and screwdrivers and such along with a notebook.

He flips open the notebook to find Maven's curling handwriting staring back at him.

_"Happy 18th birthday,_

_You kept saying you miss all the tools back home, so I got you these to make up for them while you're away. The seller said they're nice and portable but I happen to think they're pretty heavy._

_Furthermore, I decided that wasn't enough and I got you this notebook you can write all your ideas in. I hope you like them and will stop complaining to me all the time._

_-Maven"_

Water drips on the paper, smearing the ink down the page.

He puts it down, the touch of leather burning his hands so furiously he can't stand it.

His eyes burn into the box but ultimately decides to continue searching.

Eighteenth birthday, it's too early to be much of anything.

It doesn't tell him anything about Maven or why he did the things he did, it doesn't hint and point one way or another on the topic of Maven's salvation.

It breaks his heart to let it go nonetheless.

He'll make sure to keep it, but right now he has to focus.

The next box he brings down is empty save a few multicolored ribbons.

The next one holds a book.

_"Notes of the Underground"_

He flips through the pages with haste, looking for markups or papers shoved between the pages.

In the blur of black text on white paper, he sees nothing.

He sets it aside.

There are no more boxes on the shelves.

His body melts in distress, breaking a deep sigh through the quiet air.

It's suffocating him, the silence so contracting, replacing the memories of sound and life and warmth the room used to hold.

His breath quickens, pulling his lungs to gasps. 

Mavey, his baby brother, is gone.

He sinks into the floor, too strongly aware of the freezing wooden boards beneath his aching body.

But he can't panic, he can't break down, not with Mare in the other room.

He has to keep it together, after everything Mavey put her through he owes it to her to keep it together.

_"Breath, Cal."_

_Mavey stares down at him, twirling his hair around his fingers, twisting and yanking._

_"Look" Maven pulls a big silver filled smile, "I'm fine."_

_He is fine, the healers got him quick._

_Cal shakes at the memory, Maven giggling, reaching up to his brother on his unstable, toddler, legs._

_Those tiny legs clumsily tripping him, sending him stumbling backwards._

_Backwards down the stairs._

_He screamed, reaching towards Cal, begging for a hand to catch him, to save him._

_Cal wasn't quick enough._

_A fractured skull, shards of bone stuck into the brain matter._

_Two broken legs, a broken arm with the bone sticking through._

_Lethal, by very definition._

_"I'm okay, Big brother, there's no need to worry."_

_Mavey smiles down at him again, all the blood gone, all the wounds stitched up._

"Mavey," he whispers, reaching towards the false image, only for him to disappear.

His fingers hit a smooth box instead of Maven's legs.

A box he didn't see before.

His breathing finally slows as he grabs it.

He pulls the ribbon, watching the silk tumble out of the smooth, perfect, bow.

The lid slides off.

Diamonds.

Some kind of chain cloth of glittering diamonds.

He pulls it, watching it tumble heavy as it unravels.

A dress…

If you can call something so… tiny… a dress.

It glitters bright across the flooring, reflecting the artificial light everywhere.

Was it for Mare?

He sets it aside, uncomfortable by the thought.

Another dress rests at the bottom, this one nearly an actual dress, still too small to actually be considered appropriate, but judging by the other one, appropriate isn't the point.

It's scarlet red with matching plastic sequins.

He twists it.

Would this even fit Mare?

Mare.

Mare was making so much noise before, why'd she stop?

"Mare?" He calls.

No answer.

He stumbles up, shooting like a star to check on her.

She could be hurt.

She could be having a panic attack, he knew she often panicked when Maven comes up, why would he leave her alone with all his stuff?

What's wrong with him? What if she finds something and it's so bad she-

She's fine

Mare sits still on Maven's bed, reading some pages with an intensity.

"Whatcha got there?" He calls her attention away from the page.

She looks at him, then back down at the page, then back up at him.

Then she laughs.

"Listen to this," she stands, as if to dramatically recite the page;

_"In a world with no joy, no happiness, and no sadness, what is left if not anger. Am I wrong to be angry, have I forfeited all rights when I wilfully handed myself away to him? Am I wrong, am I gross, am I disgusting for so deeply subjecting myself to such submission? For laying beneath him so?"_

Cal takes the page when she offers it, rereading the words.

"That's the best one," Mare comments, "the rest are about me."

"Maven wrote this?" He looks up at her, then down at the words again, noting some of the choices.

To him?

Laying beneath _him_?

"Dunno, honestly," Mare picks up another page, "The ones about me aren't quite so nihilistic."

"Nor flashy," she notes, narrowing in on the words.

"Honestly, from these letters, you'd think he hates me."

This turns Cal's head.

"Hate you?"

"Yeah," Mare says, picking up a page already piled on the bed, "the sheer number of times he calls me rude and stubborn is honestly impressive."

"You're handling this surprisingly well?"

Mare looks up at him quizzically.

"What? Him hating me?" She laughs, her smile brightening, "If anything it's a relief, all that suffering he put me through, not because he had some deep, twisted, heartfelt, feelings for me that I betrayed, but rather because I'm the bitch who insulted him and pissed him off."

She hands off a page.

"This one is addressed to you," Cal grabs it warily, worried it will burn him with something much stronger than the fire he so regularly controls, "I mean, they're all addressed to you, but you know."

Cal doesn't know, he just reads.

_Dear Cal,_

_What does love feel like?_

_I asked Mother this question when I was but a little child, so full of curiosity and soft dependency. She told me it was painful, and I took her words to heart._

_So tell me then, if love is such a knife ripping through your skin, why does everyone seek it?_

_And why do they look so horrified when I find it?_

_Tell me, please tell me, did I get it wrong? Was I wrong to believe such things? To accept such feelings._

_If it isn't love that I endure, what is it? What have I sacrificed myself for? What do I endanger my future for? Always running after this feeling?_

_Am I so wrong? Have I thrown myself into this river of sticky red blood for nothing? Am I stranded now because of the current running hard and fast and suffocating?_

_It's love I feel, right? Love is the feeling of blood rushing through my veins at the sight of her? It's this pit that sucks me dry, boils me and sends my vision harsh, right?_

_If it isn't love_ _he feels_ _I feel, what is it?_

_And what does love feel like?_

_-Mavey_

Every word leaves Cal doing a double take.

"What the hell?"

Mare nods at the sentiment.

"Some of them are downright weird, and others are bluntly describing things that actually happened."

She shifts through the pages, "He called the scarlet guard, and I quote, _'Cruel for forcing such memories back to me.'_ "

"How strange," Cal finally breaks from the page, "What's he talking about?"

She shrugs.

"Did you find anything?"

He blinks.

"Uh, yeah," He points to the closet, "come here, I want to test something."

She nods, following quickly.

He hands off the first dress, the diamond one.

"Would this fit you?"

Mare grabs it.

Mare blinks.

"Cal is this a joke?" She glares at him harsh like daggers and hail, "You want me to play _dress up_?"

"No!" He gasps, already pulling the dress back, "No I mean…"

"I thought it was probably for you," he twists his hands, looking around the mostly empty walk in, "Who else could it be for?"

"Oh," she pulls it back, looking at it fully.

"No."

"No?" Cal turns back to her.

"It's not for me," She tosses it back to him, "It wouldn't fit me well, plus it's practically lingerie, Maven never made any advances I didn't goad him into, he wouldn't buy me something like that."

He ignores the "goad him into".

"So who's it for?"

Mare grasps a chain, watching it slide over her fingers in a heavy fashion.

"I mean," She looks up at him, lips pressed together in thought, "It could always be for his _wife_."

"Iris?" Cal looks at it again, he's only seen the lakelander princess a handful of times, and in all those times she was taller than Mare, "I don't think so."

Mare wanders off, grabbing the red dress from the box, "If we could figure out _when_ he bought these it might lead us to who they're for."

Cal tilts the dress in his hands, listening to the chains clink together.

"Whats this?"

He turns back toward her.

"What?"

"It's a list of names," Mare hands the paper to him, "Do you recognize any of them?"

He reads down the list.

"Yeah," he scrunches his nose in concentration, "most of them actually."

"They're all soldiers, from Maven's time at the front." 

Mare peeks over the paper, reading the names again.

"Are they all silvers?"

Cal looks up at her quizzically.

"All the ones I recognize?"

Mare hums a low tone, reverberating through the empty room, "Not a list of newbloods then," 

"Is there anything in common with the names you do recognize?"

He looks over them again, trying his best to recall them.

Different ranks.

Different names.

Different backgrounds.

"They're silver, they're men, they were there while Maven was at the front, and none of them are members of the high houses."

"Were," she corrects.

He nods, ignoring the odd misplacement at the tense.

"They have to be important somehow," Mare huffs, irritation radiating off of her in place of bodily heat.

"We could always talk to them."

"Ales Pecunia?"

"Deceased."

A deep groan settles through the room.

The third one dead so far.

"Felis Argentum?"

"Deceased."

"Rapin Numus?"

"Deceased."

"Vir Denarius?"

"Deceased."

Cal flops down into a chair, feeling a deep throbbing headache come on harsher than a Hurricane.

"Cal?" Julian raises an eyebrow at him but he just waves the man off.

"They're all dead, great," He complains, the bitter anger rising through his bones and flowing out his body in waves of danger heat.

"All of them?" Mare snatches the paper before scoffing.

"You missed one, Corban Romero."

Julian types the name into the system, the sound of the keyboard clicking loudly, bouncing around the otherwise silent room.

Cal glances over at the various guardsmen sent to make overview all endeavors involving the deceased boy-king.

And Evangeline, who decided to come along after Cal approached her with the list of names, and is currently pretending not to be that interested.

"Alive, lives in Pitarus."

Everyone in the room vibrates with excitement.

"We should send someone to fetch him!" 

Cal looks at the guard with unease, suddenly very nervous about this whole thing.

"Perhaps," He offers diplomatically, "but not right now."

Everyone looks at him with a mixture of confusion and anger.

"It could be some sort of plot!" Someone else enrages.

"It's not likely," Mare shakes her head, "these are people who knew Maven when he was 15, and they're all dead.'

"All but one!"

"There's no feasible way there's something political here, if anything this is a personal matter and it would only unease the country further."

There's silence for a bit, it weighs like bricks stacking, stacking, stacking.

"Fine," one of the guards, a much higher up one concedes, "We'll talk to the highers and trust you'll tell if there was something."

One by one they leave.

Everyone is still.

"Why don't you want them to know?" 

Cal looks at her, feeling that unease build inside of him again.

Does he even want her to know?

He pushes it aside for now.

"Julian?" Julian looks up at him from the computer, "How did they die?"

"Accidental deaths."

He presses his lips together firmly.

Like hell they were _accidental._

"Oh," Mare empties, looking shocked, "These people had to have known something about Maven."

"Or hurt him," Cal and Mare gasp, turning like some sort of odd robot to look at Evangeline, who they forgot was even there, "Elara had a nasty habit of murdering anyone who laid a finger on her son."

"What?" Cal blinks, "No one ever hurt Maven."

"No one _you_ ever knew about."

It stings at Cal, the accusation of it all sharp and pointed like one of her glittering knives.

He wants to claim he would know if someone hurt his baby brother, but if there's one thing he's learned, it's that he knows nothing about him.

"General Dupre," Eve offers.

"General Dupre was a well respected man," Cal snarls, the memory of the good man dying right in front of him popping into his head.

"Yeah, a _'well respected man'_ who was shot by a misfire and spent the month beforehand absolutely terrified of your brother."

Cal blinks.

"Plus there was that red," she rolls her eyes, "nobody even found his body."

"Thomas?" Mare interjects, but upon noticing Cal and Evangeline's matching confusion, continues, "Thomas was a red boy who Maven was friends with, or uh, more than friends with."

Cal wants to ask how she knows this but everything they say burns him.

He didn't know about General Dupre, and he didn't know about Thomas.

"Tolly owes me money," Eve pouts.

"Maven said he accidentally killed him though, not Elara."

Eve waves her off, "my point still stands."

"None of this explains the dresses," Mare huffs.

"Maybe they're a separate deal?" He comforts, also feeling that dissatisfaction building in his bones at the misplaced puzzle piece.

"What dresses?"

"If they were separate why were they in the same box as the list?"

"Maybe he just kept things in the same place."

"What dresses?!" She snarls, pointing a cutting shard of aluminum at his throat.

He rolls his eyes at the show, "we found some dresses in Maven's room,"

"Two dresses specifically," mare interjects.

"Two dresses, they didn't fit Mare so we're trying to figure out who they're for."

"Too big?" Eve shoots a snarky glance to Mare.

"Too small, actually," she shoots back.

Despite growing closer in the last while, they're still at each other's throats like always. That cutthroat competitiveness clanking and causing sparks lighting up the previously darkened mood.

"Let me see them."

The diamonds clink in sharp noises as Evangeline examines them, running her fingers through the chain gracefully.

"Definitely not for Mare," she sneers, "too cheap."

"Too cheap?" Cal steps forward to look down at the way it glitters.

"And too old."

"Eh?" Mare grabs one of the strands, "it's studded with diamonds, how could it _possibly_ be cheap?"

"Quartz crystals, actually, not diamonds," she picks up the red dress, "the fringe on this is made of plastic sequins."

She sighs, tossing the dress back onto the bed, "No respectable noble would wear plastic anything."

"So?' Cal picks it up, "who is it for."

"No idea," She laughs, turning away from it, "but he bought it at the front, there was a boutique in the town nearby that would sell stuff like this."

"The front?"

She nods, white hair bouncing as she exits the room, "I appreciated this lil sherlock roleplay but whatever you find, I don't want to hear about it," she refuses to turn around, though she stalls in the doorway, "Maven is dead, and it's better to accept that and move towards the future, not the past."

It hurts Cal to watch her leave.

He hadn't thought about it before, but she also grew up with Maven, they were never close, but the memories must haunt her like anyone else.

"Let's go to the front then," Mare grabs the dresses, "and then we can talk to mr Romero?"

"I'm sorry," the woman curtsies, her accent lacing thickly around the words, "but we don't sell this dress anymore."

"No, no," Cal waves his hands through the air, pushing away the misunderstandings, "We wanted to ask about someone who bought this dress."

"Ah," she flushes cloud white, "I suspect the ki- your brother."

She grabs it off the table, scrutinizing it harshly, "What do you need to know?"

It's progress, by the very definition of the word, he expected a bit more resistance, a silent oath or just not remembering it all that well.

Somehow years of time hadn't faded her memories of it.

And _that_ worries Cal; something so significant happened to make her remember it years later.

"Who did he buy it for?"

"Wouldn't know, he didn't talk much." she coats a sickeningly sweet layer of sugar in the words, the only warning to her incoming statement, "I'd suspect himself."

"Himself?" Mare leans on the counter, crushing her nose.

The assistant looks between them for a second, "it does me no good to spread rumors," she sets the dress back onto the counter for them, "doesn't do the two of you any good to chase them either."

"Might do you some good," Cal smiles, dropping crowns on the counter, "Less business now that the war is over, right?"

She smiles sweetly, "Planning to shut the place down, move to a more populous area, pretty expensive though."

He sighs, dropping more coins on the table with heavy sounds.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

"He came in here with a boy," she slides the coins across the counter with a jangle, "I was still just an attendant back then so I had to make sure he was thoroughly satisfied with the items.

She snorts with an inside joke the other two didn't share, "And boy was he."

"Tell me about this boy." 

"Red," she rolls her eyes, shooting Mare a knowing glance, "He seemed to have a type."

"Thomas?" Mare brushes off the reference to their relationship smoothly, only twitching a little so the woman wouldn't notice.

Cal noticed, he sees the way he shoulders shift and rolls, tensing with memories and scars.

"That's what he called him," she smiles at them coyly, "least, that's what he was screaming."

A wave of silence rolls over the two, catching them in a tsunami of uncomfortable.

The woman just turns her focus back on the dress, fingering the fringe delicately to watch it glitter.

"Well loved," she smiles, turning a chain towards them to see missing crystals, "surprisingly clean though."

The two stay equally silent as the woman continues her inspection, "wouldn't have fit the red," she holds up the red one, putting it on display to the two, "this one wasn't as loved, too modest for two freaky teenagers. Maybe worn a few times?"

She hands the two items back to them, "if that's all, have a good day."

"He dressed me up."

Cal turns, following Mare with his eyes as she stalks down the street with a deep, unbridled determination in her eyes.

"When he had me prisoner, he dressed me up. Treated me like a doll," she holds the box containing the two dresses tight to her chest, "I thought he was making fun of me, trying to break my spirt."

"Turns out he just had a dress up kink."

"Something about this doesn't feel right," Cal whispers, his fingers twitching with paranoia, "Maven was a private person, he wouldn't have-"

He coughs on the word.

"He- uh."

"He wouldn't fuck in a dressing room?"

He nods, heating at the bold statement about Maven's sex life.

"It does sound weird," Mare sighs, "But maybe the dress just really revved him?"

"Or Tom?"

"Thomas," she corrects.

"Yeah."

"And there were these rumors… about him selling his body." He whispers, a dry an unnerved feeling chasing over him and securing his lungs with gallons of salty water.

"They were just rumors," she says, staring forward with wondering eyes.

He says something Elara had taught him long ago, "All rumors are based in some truth."

There's silence, the type pulls you into a void and suffocates you.

"We're here," she turns around to see him, holding that scrap of notebook paper, littered with her own uneven handwriting.

It's a house… that much is undeniable.

It's smaller, 1 story, not exactly what he was expecting of the soldier that showed such promise.

She knocks on the door firmly.

A deep voice that vibrates his bones sounds from the other side.

"No visitors," he grunts.

"My name is Mare Barrow," She calls through the door, plastering a fake smile on, "We've come to talk to you about Maven?"

"No visitors."

She scrunches her nose harsh, coiling it up in thought.

"He's dead, we thought you'd want to know that," Cal rumbles, "Nobody is coming after you."

The locks click, sliding out of place and door opens with a shrill scream so opposite to the deep of the ex-soldier's voice.

"How'd he die?"

The man has a large burn scar covering one side of his face.

Mare shifts next to him, uneasy.

"I stabbed him," she awkwardly rocks.

Cal watches her fidget, more so he doesn't have to look at the visible sign of Maven splayed across the man's face.

"Come in."

He's smiling when Cal looks back.

"So," Mare sighs when the man sets the list back on the table between them, "What did you do, to earn that scar?"

"I'm assuming the same thing to earn you yours," his laugh rumbles as he gestures to her collar.

"I doubt that," she offers politely, eyes flicking towards Cal beside her.

He continues to glance around the room, taking in the dingy furniture.

He shouldn't be so judgemental, there's only so much one can do when he's on the run.

"What exactly did you do?"

He looks back towards the ex-king with a bit of shock.

"Just a bit of fun," he rolls his eyes, "The queen didn't appreciate Maven's more scandalous extracurriculars."

He and Mare blink slowly, pieces falling slowly into place.

_Is this Thomas?_

"Uh," Cal clears his throat, "So is Thomas like a nickname, or?"

He laughs again, that deep rumble that vibrates in his bones, "I'm not-" he chokes on the words, "I apologize, I've never been mistaken for Thomas before, that's hysterical."

"Who, uh, who was Thomas?" Cal leans forward, "I mean, we know he's a red, but if that's all he was why do you know him?"

"An evil, evil, boy," he shrugs, "Always had the best girls though."

The air fills with static as Cal listens to him talk, he's lost, confused in a way that has him recounting all the clues and information he's gained along the way.

When he turns to Mare for some sort of answer, she's shifting in her area with undiluted confusion.

Best girls? 

It still sounds strange in his brain but lucky for him, Romero continues.

"I mean, I was a little bit apprehensive when he came to me about a boy, I'm not into guys you know? But then he presented him to me and it was like nothing I could have anticipated."

"I'm.. sorry?" Cal feels himself creak like an old wooden door, slowly coming building into a loud shriek of realization.

_If it isn't love that I endure, what is it?_

"I guess you can't exactly appreciate it you know, being his brother and all," he waves his hand, batting away the mention of incest.

He's starting to understand why Maven put this guy on a to die list.

He's even finding himself appreciating the large scar across his face.

"Thomas always had pretty girls, but they were always reds," He shoots a look to Mare, "no offense, of course."

"It just gets a little boring, there's no risk to it," he leans back into the couch nonchalantly, "A prince however…"

"Well, let's just say the price," he gestures to his face, "was well worth the rush."

It blinks in his head, bopping around uselessly.

It's as if they weren't speaking the same language.

Still, his gut screams with building nausea.

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Cal," Mare grabs his arm, "We should go."

_"I've been hearing rumors"_

Ptolemus' voice rings in his ears.

"Hey, there's no need to be nervous, I'm not going to go around telling people about it."

_"People are saying that Maven is… selling himself."_

The volume builds as things click into place.

"We're good, actually," Mare snuffs, pulling on his arm harder. He doesn't budge. He's fixed to his spot, a statue.

_"People have noticed men leaving his room in the middle of the night."_

"Oh come on, I would have thought you of all people would want to hear," His smile reads malicious, "I mean, with all he did to you, wouldn't it be cathartic?"

_"Cally, I'm scared."_

She doesn't respond, or if she does Cal doesn't notice it over the sound of Mavey's voice ringing in his head.

Maven was a monster, that's what everyone said.

He was beyond saving, too broken to be put back together, missing too many pieces.

He didn't make the wrong choice.

Elara tore Maven and Cal apart, this guy was nothing but a drop in the barrel.

Right?

Right?!

"Don't you want to know all the horrible things I did to him?"

_"The evil monsters will get me!"_

"Don't you want to know how he cried?"

_"Cally?"_

Orange lighting flashes in an explosion of heat as Cal lunges forward, punching the ex-soldier.

A sick satisfaction settles through his guts as Corban's face blurs with the red boy from years ago.

Mare's quiet, seconds pass like hours as Cal works on rubbing all the silver off with a handkerchief.

"What do we do now?" 

Mare looks up at him like he's stupid.

"Go home."

She huffs a loud sigh, "That was too much for me, and you can't be doing much better. So we head back to Montfort and erase all this from our memories."

Her words boil him, raging in him with the remains of his earlier rage.

"Easy for you to say," He scoffs, "You have a family, parents and siblings."

"You have Anabel and Julian!"

"That's not the same and you know it!"

How is he supposed to return home and forget about the boy who haunts every corner of his life, that's evident in every article of clothing?

"I have to check his room back at the front, just see if i can't get some sort of closure."

She's quiet, looking out at the dark streets with distance.

"I'm not coming with you."

"I wouldn't ask you to."

Cal almost never entered Maven's room, both at the front and at home, his space was his and Cal's space was…

Well honestly that was also Maven's.

He forces himself in, breaking the barrier of cold air.

Sunlight fades over the horizon, darkening the room second by second.

It's the desk drawer where he finds them, letters piled, dated and addressed to him, to Cal.

He looks at them, reading the dates with unease as they inch closer and closer to Maven's last day at the front.

This one is addressed to Thomas.

He peels it open, ripping the paper with his fingers.

_Dearest Thomas,_

_I so desperately wanted something to keep of you, all of the evidence of your being have faded from my body. Your kisses are but phantoms, your marks so fleeting, your words ring in my head like the bells of a funeral you'll never get._

_And maybe you deserve that, maybe we both do, maybe our grains of sand will float down the hourglass with little more than a few words, forgotten about for all of time._

_I feel as though it's not an unreasonable request, to have you imprinted into my body until the day I die, but perhaps it is._

_Even my memories of you seem to be fading, I can't remember what shade of brown your eyes were._

_Mother says it's natural to start losing memory after a traumatic event._

_I have other suspicions at the gaping holes._

_I worry she'll wipe you away, take with her every lesson you taught me._

_But I must remember, your empty spaces in my mind and heart will not fill with void, I will be better than you were._

_I will love the next more thoroughly._

_I will not share them._

_I will not let them go._

_I will not let myself be forgotten._

_Everything you did to me will be remembered, your lessons will never be forgotten._

He sets it back down.

Everything is too quiet, too still, even his own mind feels startling in its void.

He's glad Mare went home.

The picture of her scar burns his retinas.

_Something to keep of you_

His skin itches, like the words have creeped onto his body, sticking to his soul.

He shakes it off, grabbing the next letter in the stack, hoping for something to erase the sharpness of the room and the buzzing of his bones.

He notes the postmark on the letter, a week before Maven left, a little under a week before the letter he just read. 

He's more gentle with this one, ripping the envelope slowly in fear of damaging _the contents of Maven's heart._

_Dear Cal,_

_You don't know this, but I cannot dream. My nightmares as a child always landed me seeking your warmth and comfort in the darkest of hours and Mother disliked that, she removed them from my mind, untangled them from my shivering, frightened body._

_But if I could dream, I know what it would be about._

_I'd see him, he'd hold me down, play me, set my nerves and body on fire. He'd say he loved me, he would whisper it into my ear until I can't take it anymore and I turn away._

_And when I look back;_

_I'd see him, a decaying version of him, his cold rough skin leaking death and sticky red blood alike. He'd pour his malice and anger in my mouth, he'd wrap his fingers around my neck and squeeze while I watch his brain slip out from the hole in his skull._

_The hole you left._

_I'd see him, but it wouldn't be him, it would be the monster from all my nightmares before. The dark void with glittering teeth and that painful, painful love._

_As I know love is._

_I'd see him, him and all those faceless men he let touch me. All the men who paid him for my body. The general who tried to do the same years ago._

_And the one I can still feel on my lips._

_I'd see him, or I'd see you, holding me by the neck, pushing me under the water. Holding me there as all those voices that warned me ring in my head._

_The baritone, Mother, The general._

_Thomas._

_I know these would be my nightmares because it's what drags through my head over and over whenever mother isn't there to stop them._

_She said the memories will hurt less with time, and maybe she's right._

_Or, maybe it will forever haunt me, burn my hands and scorch my brain._

_Maybe, when I lay on my deathbed, these will be the memories I recall._

_Maybe I'll never be free, never be happy, never be alive again._

_I'm scared to die like that._

_-Mavey_

There's something about reading the nickname that breaks Cal, letting tears roll out of his eyes like waves crashing into the sand.

Is that what Mavey thought about when he died?

Were his final thoughts of Cal hurting him?

Were they of those horrible men Thomas _sold_ him to?

Were they of Thomas himself, the awful things he did to him or the kind things he did to manipulate him?

When Mavey died, when his little brother drew his last breaths, did he die thinking Thomas loved him and Cal didn't?

Did he die not knowing Cal would have done anything to save him?

Cal stares down at his hands, remembering it, remembering.

The way his feet pounded down the hallways, looking, searching for Mare.

The way his breath drew long gasps.

The way it stopped.

Maven was so cold, silver blood poured out onto the floor.

Dead, if only a few seconds into it.

Julian tried to comfort him, told him it was for the best.

But that was his little brother, the baby he carried everywhere, the toddler who tumbled into his arms, the child who snuck into his bed.

And thinking about it now, did he really do everything to save him?

Was it less about saving him, and more about directing him?

He sobs, because he knows he couldn't have known.

He sobs, because he knows he should have anyway.

He was supposed to protect Mavey, as his older brother it was his job to guide him in this world.

He stares at the blurring paper like it's the only thing left in this world.

_'I can't cry, she relieved me of that burden too.'_

He cries in his stead, pouring every tear his little brother couldn't.

He can't change the past, he knows this by the nights spent begging the phantom dreams of his mother to come back.

He can't change the past, it's already written in stone, the bodies already neatly tucked away to decay beneath the dark soil.

He can never hold his brother again, never tell him all he knows, hold him while Maven does those dark choking noises he now recognizes as sobs.

 _He_ made the call to give that up, _he_ decided the world was better without him, _he…_

He has no one to blame but himself. 

He clutches the paper tight, crinkling it in his hands, and he tidal waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then Cal adopts a blue eyed child and raises him to be the happiest lil thing in the world, the end


End file.
